


One Name

by mishamigo999



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Grace, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Profound Bond, Psychic Bond, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Sick Dean Winchester, Soul Bond, True Love, True Mates, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 26,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1636460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishamigo999/pseuds/mishamigo999
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where you only have one true mate, where you are empty until you find the person meant for you, it takes fate and a lot of luck to fill the space inside.<br/>Your life starts all over on your twenty first birthday- the only clue you get is a name; a name you can never forget no matter how hard you try. A soul bond is permanent, irrevocable, and your world dims until you are one with your mate.<br/>So go, follow that name, find your partner. Happiness awaits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Grace Bonds are Confusing

Castiel awoke in the heavens, and stretched his great wings, several pairs of them sprouting from a colossal form made of energy and light. His brothers’ and sisters’ voices echoed in his head, calling and rejoicing at the creation of another of them, _Angel of the Lord_ , the voices supplied. He was an angel. He blinked his multiple pairs of eyes, mouth opening, and the first thing he said was “ _Dean_.”

Castiel was absolutely and totally confused. He was currently flying leisurely over this new creation that their father called Earth. He was a soldier, not trained to necessarily see the art in things, but even he had to admit that this new place his Father had made was impressive, expanding in foliage and mountainous regions below him. His brother Gabriel, who was his usual flying partner, was faster than him due to his much larger wingspan that spoke of his rank as an archangel, and Castiel was straining to keep up.

“What do you mean, brother? I don’t understand. Dean is not an angelic name; how could I possibly be grace mates with someone named Dean if God has not created them?” Castiel put on a burst of speed and drew even with his older brother.

“I dunno, Castiel. Our Father must have a plan. He always does, you know that. But, it IS very weird. I mean, when angels do couple, it’s always to each other,” Gabriel shrugged massive shoulders, “don’t worry so much, bro. It will all fall into place.”

“I still don’t understand why Father would make such a confusing way of finding who you are meant to be with,” Castiel grumbled under his breath, but he put the thought to the back of his mind and concentrated on keeping up with Gabriel.

When his older brother Lucifer fell from heaven and from grace, all the angels mourned his loss, and several hundred more followed suit, spiraling down and down, below the Earth, into another realm completely. Castiel’s brother Michael called this realm _Hell_ , and it soon was obvious any angel who fell into Hell twisted, grace becoming distorted, dimmed, and finally darkened completely. _Demons_ , Michael decreed, his mighty voice practically shattered the heavens. They were to destroy any demons they came across. As much as Castiel disliked the idea of killing any of his brothers and sisters, he knew his duty. Michael himself went down to this realm, and trapped Lucifer there forever, in a mighty battle, destroying so much that Castiel knew it would take hundreds of years to be replenished. With Lucifer caged, existence continued, angels performing their tasks.

The Lord’s creations were unique, and more intelligent than the other living creatures on Earth. Castiel could understand sometimes why his Father thought them so important. They evolved slowly in Earth time, though it was no more than a blip in the timeline of Castiel’s existence. Angels were assigned to keep watch on these new creatures, and as they grew, Castiel heard stories, stories of his brothers and sisters falling for them, choosing mortal life, for these odd, simple looking _humans_. He thought this was idiotic. They had their duties, they had purpose, and Castiel didn’t understand why they would give this up for the creatures in the realm below. Angels talked, voices in his head arguing and debating, speaking of prophets and prophecies and things to come involving these humans. Castiel dismissed the thoughts, choosing to continue to protect heaven and earth as per his orders.

The humans created weapons. They grew greedy, they committed acts of horror. They learned, albeit slowly, of the other, more twisted creatures that they shared the planet with. They began seeking out weaknesses, fighting back. Castiel had to admire them for that. These humans were strong, and while some might be evil and a disgrace to his Father’s name, others created beautiful art, some sang lovely hymns, and some treated others with much more kindness than was called for. Others were heroes, fighting evil with every trick and strength they had, rivaling angels in their righteous fury. Castiel learned these people called themselves _Hunters_.

Castiel marveled sometimes, as he made his way around Earth to destroy any threats, at the creativity of these humans. It had been centuries since he actually had time to come down and look at the world, and even now he was keeping several pairs of eyes in each direction, and was on another plane to avoid hurting any humans. The angels had learned the hard way that most humans could not look at them or listen to them safely. This had led to the necessity of vessels- with permission, of course. Castiel looked around now, up in the sky were contraptions the humans called airplanes, and he remembered the labor those took to create. Down below him were the vehicles called cars, and houses made of sturdy materials, and humans living everyday lives none the wiser of anything out of order. Angels were something no one had ever seen except in the odd, not quite accurate book they called the Bible, and monsters were things to scare small children. Only the few hundreds of those that were called Hunters knew of the abominations that were scattered across Earth. Castiel watched these most of all, impressed at the ingenuity of the kills, the soldier in him pleased with their sense of duty. When he was called back to heaven, he was oddly reluctant to go.

There had been hundreds of thousands of men and women with a name that included Dean in the title. Castiel had secretly visited each and every one of them. As far as he knew, no angel had ever been paired as grace mates with a human, and he didn’t even know if it was possible, but he couldn’t stop looking. His brother Gabriel had been gone for millennia, and he no longer had anyone to talk freely to, nor was he naïve enough any longer to think that any other angels would be receptive to the idea. Some angels, like his brother Balthazar, enjoyed the carnal pleasures humans and human vessels involved. Castiel didn’t care about any of that. He just knew his grace burned for this, for someone. Someone named Dean. **  
**


	2. in Which Dean has No Regrets

Mary and John Winchester had told Dean stories when he was younger of the soul-bond aspect of human life and love. They told him about how it would happen. Dean’s Dad would get this dreamy far off look on his face, and if he was drunk enough he would talk to Dean.

“I woke up exactly at midnight on my twenty first birthday, just shaking and sweating. My head was pounding; I was thrilled and excited and happy and horrified. All I knew was her name was Mary, and I was going to find her,” John Winchester would say between sips of alcohol, Dean hanging onto every word. His mother had been dead for fourteen years, and Dean had three years to go before his twenty first birthday, “when I saw your mother, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Hair like gold, like an angel, I thought. I didn’t even have to ask her name. She looked at me, I looked at her, she whispered my name, and that was that.”

Dean was anxious and eager, and yet he really didn’t want to know at the same time. He was a hunter, raised that way his whole life alongside his brother Sammy, and he didn’t think he wanted to drag any girl into this world. He might be lonely, but at least his conscience was clear. He didn’t think any woman would want this life.

Sammy shook his brother awake at exactly 12:19 am on Dean’s twenty first birthday. Dean was crying, he was fucking sobbing, and he wiped his eyes furiously. Sam frowned, concerned, his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean, what’s wrong? What happened?” Sam’s voice was quiet and subdued, trying not to wake their father, “you were thrashing in your sleep… what’s her name?”

“Castiel,” Dean said when he could breathe again, “her name is _Castiel_. What the FUCK kinda name is that?” Sam smirked, and gave his brother an awkward one armed hug.

“Sounds like you landed yourself a nerd, dude,” Sam teased, and Dean socked him lightly in the arm before half smiling.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean said finally, with a sigh, “I’m not bringin’ any girl into this. Ain’t fair to her.” Sam’s expression saddened and Dean tried to ignore the new, aching and empty feeling in his gut.

A year later, Sam left. He packed up all his crap and didn’t leave a trace behind. Dean’s father was livid. He threw himself into the obsessive hunting like he always did. Every night was spent drinking himself into oblivion. Dean was lonelier than ever, so much it hurt. He picked up a new girl every night, taking her home or her taking him home, and he perfected the art of flirting. He never asked their names. He didn’t want to hear it. The sex helped ease the ache, the body next to him in bed was warm but never quite right. Dean always left before morning. There were exceptions to the rule, like Cassie and Lisa, but they weren’t right either. They liked him, maybe even loved him, but he always knew it wouldn’t work. And beneath it all, Dean was empty. He was hollow, and he was broken. By the time his Dad went missing for days, Dean had given up hope on ever finding his Castiel.

 

Castiel was startled when the prophecy began to fall into place exactly as was predicted. The two brothers, of which the angels only knew the last name Winchester, were already being prepped to be vessels for the apocalypse. Michael was pleased, he wanted his brother dead once and for all. Many angels felt the passing shame that this war would likely destroy their Father’s whole creation. Castiel was one of them, he looked at the wonders the humans had created and felt sorry for them, so much tireless work and evolution would be gone in a day, maybe even hours. His Father had been silent and absent for hundreds of years now. They had no choice but to follow the prophecies. He fully expected the Winchesters were like every other vessel, chosen for religiousness and bloodline.

 

“Dad’s on a hunting trip… and he hasn’t been home in a few days,” Dean’s voice was light, but the words were serious. Sam understood immediately. He whispered to his…mate, and damn if it wasn’t weird Dean’s little brother had a mate, and stepped over to Dean.

“Dude, I can’t just pack up and leave,” Sam hissed, frowning, “I’ve got scholarship interviews in a few days.”

Dean was stunned at Sam’s priorities and a little hurt too. But he agreed to have Sam back in time. His little brother always deserved better anyway.

When they arrived back and found Sam’s soul-bond dead, killed by the same demon that got their mother, Dean looked at Sam’s face, an eerie echo of their father’s, expression grim and vengeful. He didn’t try to talk much to his brother; it wasn’t going to do any good. He knew what people were like after losing their soul-bond. You got half of you ripped away, and some people even died from it. Dean knew his brother well enough to know he wasn’t one of those people, but as time went on, Dean wondered if Sammy wouldn’t rather be dead sometimes.

Dean sold his soul to get his brother back. It wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done, but he didn’t regret it one fucking bit. Sam was the smart one, the good one, the one who deserved to live. He could do the most good in this world. And besides that, without Sammy, with his father dead too, Dean had nobody. The loneliness was going to slowly eat him alive until he cracked open with it and bled dry. Bobby was furious, Sam was furious, and they had a right to be. Dean knew he’d made the right decision. He was prepared to die. His only regret was never knowing what Castiel looked like. He knew he would wonder that forever in hell.

His last year with Sammy was a good one, and when the hellhounds came for him Dean found himself replaying it in his mind. Lilith laughed as she opened the door for the beasts, and as they tore through his clothes and into his chest, Dean thought of the small things: Sam laughing with bright eyes, brotherly pranks, watching Sammy fight and claw his way through anything in his path, ever the hero. It was worth it. It was always worth it, anything for his little brother. When Dean's heart stopped beating and his eyes glazed over, as his soul dropped into hell, he hoped wherever this Castiel was that she would forgive him for leaving before he could meet her. He was glad she didn’t have to be torn up the way Sam was about Jess.

Then, he found himself suspended, pierced through by hooks and chains seemingly attached to nothing, a grinning, twisted, horrifying demon form in front of him, slicing into him and laughing, the pain happening over and over again. Sammy, Dean’s mind screamed, I did this for Sammy. Dean knew this was coming, and day after day he told himself it was worth it, until the day he couldn’t picture his brother’s face. Thirty years he suffered, clinging to memories of being human, until he couldn’t bear the pain anymore, until he couldn’t remember ever being human. He stepped off the rack and sliced into the first victim, a twisted smile on his face. With every heartbeat one word rang in his head, the only thing that remained of his humanity. _Castiel...Castiel…Castiel…Castiel._


	3. In Which an Angel is Excited

 

When Castiel’s entire garrison was called to meet with Michael, he knew something huge was happening. There had been whispers about it for days, angels echoing in his head that the seal had been broken, that everything was in place. Michael stood gigantic and imposing in front of them, and his voice echoed when he spoke,

“The seal has been broken. You all are to be sent into the very depths of hell itself. You are looking for ONE soul, and only one. Find this soul and bring it back into his body. The angel who completes this task shall be greatly rewarded.” The garrison buzzed with excitement, talking in quick words of plans and strategies, of what they would need to do. Michael clapped to get their attention, the sound like thunder, “Dean Winchester is the man you are looking for. Find Dean Winchester and bring him back to earth so the prophecy can be fulfilled.”

Castiel heard the name and felt his feathers bristle, and his wings were the only thing that caught him from toppling over completely. _DEAN_. He whispered the name to himself, trying to stamp down the hope inside. It simply could not be.

Hell was cold, hell was noisy and chaotic, and hell hurt Castiel’s very essence. His grace was revolted at being so close to these twisted creatures, and only skilled practice and thousands of years of killing kept Castiel focused and alive. He slashed through swarm after swarm, saw brothers and sisters fall on either side of him, and still they fought on. He was dimly aware of the passing of days, days became months, months became years, years became decades. His wings grew frostbitten and the feathers grew brittle in response, turning deep black starting from the tip and creeping in until his wings were black as night and shadow. He would wear them as a mark of pride, he thought to himself, when he got out of here. If he got out of here.

Castiel knew the soul the minute he saw it. His grace resonated beautifully with it, like something from a human ballad, a song of romance and fate. He killed the last demon in his way, and carefully collected the soul, broken, cracked, and hurting. Castiel wasn’t sure which marks were from hell and which were from life. Still, it was the most beautiful soul he had ever seen, and his grace knew immediately why this was. _Mate_ , his grace whispered to him, _Mine_. Castiel turned and flew to the surface, intent and vicious as he plowed through. He no longer thought of the great reward waiting for him. He screamed to his siblings: **_DEAN WINCHESTER IS SAVED!_** Castiel wasn’t screaming out of pride; he was shouting in euphoria, grace swelling with the thought of meeting his grace mate after all these millenia. He rushed on, finally breaking free of the realm of hell. Castiel couldn’t wait to see what his mate looked like alive and whole.

Dean Winchester’s body was in horrible condition. The circumstances of his death and the months on Earth it had spent in the ground had rendered it almost unusable. Still, Castiel was more determined and focused than he remembered being in all of his time alive, and he slowly began his detailed and painstaking work on this body.

Dean had been well muscled, toned and hardened from hunter’s work. Castiel started there, winding muscle over bone and crafting a well made structure. He began on skin next, Dean had had a golden complexion, and time in the sun had given him light freckles, scattered over the bridge of his nose and across his shoulders. Castiel traced light fingers over his shoulders, freckles blooming in precisely the same spots as they had been upon his death. Only then did Castiel begin on Dean’s face. His hair was spiky and tousled at the same time, light brown, the same color as his eyebrows. Full lips, strong jaw line, sturdy neck, stubble evenly crafted across his cheeks and chin. Castiel reached reverently for his mate's face, saving his eyes for last. Dean Winchester’s eyes were the most beautiful things Castiel had ever had the pleasure of seeing. They were green, but all shades of green. Mossy green blended with emerald, and bits of jade were thrown in and scattered everywhere. Castiel poured his grace into it, making everything as it once was, and he stood back to look at his work. He pressed a hand to Dean’s bicep, in a brief, very selfish moment, and marked Dean as his, burning his mating mark into that perfect skin.

He had been working on Dean’s body for seven earthly days, and it was now Thursday once more. Fitting, Castiel thought to himself. He scooped the bright, wonderful soul out of the center of his grace that had been protecting it, and placed it back in his body, back into the coffin and grave he had found it in. He wished to stay and observe Dean awakening, but his superiors were already calling him back, ordering him home. Castiel let out an annoyed burst of power as he took off, flattening the area around his mate’s grave, and he flew towards heaven, appearing before Michael with what remained of his garrison.

Michael inclined his head, and Castiel bowed in submission.

“Little brother, you have done what I asked. Your reward is to be the chosen vessel’s guardian. You will keep him safe and instruct him as we tell you. Do you understand?” Michael asked, energy humming around Castiel.

This was a _horrible_ idea, Castiel thought frantically. If he were to stay around Dean, be a guardian for him, there was no way he could distance himself from the pull, the attraction to his soul. He would soon think of himself as Dean’s proper mate, and that certainly would not be looked kindly upon. On the other hand… it would give him exactly what he wanted, what he always dreamt of finding. Even now, his grace was empty, screaming for the soul it had held ever so briefly. Castiel was also very aware this was not a request, but an order. He had no choice.

 **“** Yes, Michael. I understand. I will do as you say, brother,” Castiel said, and his grace quivered with excitement. **  
**


	4. In Which Chemistry is Carefully Avoided

 

Dean awoke in the dark- his mouth dry and panting heavily for air. He flipped on the lighter that was somehow miraculously in his pocket, and quickly realized where he was.

"Dumb sons of bitches didn't even salt and burn me..." Dean muttered to himself, clawing his way to the surface as quickly as possible. His arm was throbbing but there wasn't enough light to see by, and other parts of his body, like his dry throat, were of much more concern. With tenaciousness that came from long practiced years of escaping difficult situations, Dean dragged himself upwards, and after what seemed like hours his hand broke free and he yanked himself up, gasping in lungfuls of fresh air, almost crying with relief. He pulled himself the rest of the way out, spat out dirt, and looked around. 

It looked like a bomb had gone off in the vicinity. the trees were flattened, grass destroyed. Dean quickly took it all in, and following his instincts he hightailed it out of the vicinity.

Dean never felt great about stealing, besides the fact he had been doing it his whole life, it just never sat right with him. He stole out of necessity, out of the need to eat and drive and live. This situation was no different, and he felt only a pang of remorse as he broke into the small convenience store and swallowed bottles of water and granola bars in quick succession.

He startled violently as the TV flipped on, static spitting at him. When the high pitched ringing started, he almost thought it was the TV overheating, until the pitch grew so loud he shouted and covered his ears, his eyes squeezed shut as windows exploded and shattered around him, glass cutting into his skin with tiny slivers. He curled into a ball, pain running through his body- not just his ears and the little cuts in his arms, but his stomach and chest. They constricted, making it hard to breathe, and he panted for air, and for one ear shattering second he thought he heard his name. Abruptly, the sound stopped, and Dean carefully took his hands off his ears, listening as much as he could with the fuzziness now running through his brain.

And through it all, his chest ached. 

Dean had been tested with holy water and silver more in the past twenty four hours than he had been in his entire life.  Several shallow slices were on his arms from the silver knife, marring the already torn up skin. He still had holy water in his hair, and now he was blinking it out of his eyes for the fifteenth time.

“Jesus friggin Christ people, how many times do you need to do that?” Dean griped as he rubbed his eyes furiously.

“Sorry,” Bobby said, completely unapologetically. Sam hesitantly reached for his brother, grasping his shoulder.

“Man… I just can’t believe it’s really you,” Sam’s voice broke on the last word, his eyes teary and lip trembling. Instead of looking like the imposing giant of a man he was, Dean was reminded of chubby little six year old Sammy waiting for him to get home from school.

“Yeah, its me, I swear -don’t you dare slice me with that again, Bobby, I see you holding it- I just have no clue HOW I’m here, which is why I need my pain in the ass, genius brother to help come up with a solution,” Dean was pissed, his arm burning faintly where the large handprint remained branded into his skin. The lonely ache in his belly, while familiar in its emptiness,  felt a little off, and his brain wouldn’t stop whispering _the name_ at him. He found himself wanting to shout _the name_ over and over again from the rooftops. It was just another strange thing to add onto the heap of crap he had endured today.

In the end, it wasn’t Sam that came up with a solution,  Bobby did. They took off to go see the psychic Pamela,  Dean’s arm burning and gut churning, Sam not taking his eyes off his brother for a single minute. At least the Impala was unchanged, his baby was gorgeous and masculine as ever, engine rumbling and bringing a bit of familiarity to the crazy fucked up situation. Dean gripped the steering wheel tight and breathed in the smell of leather for a second, the feeling of home. The enormity of the situation was crashing down on him, and he was struggling to understand it all. Hopefully, this psychic could solve the problem.

Pamela Barnes was curvy, sexy, and sassy, which was a win-win in Dean's book on women. He flirted shamelessly with her as she prepared for the séance, Sammy smirking fondly in the background. Dean ignored the tiny voice shouting at him inside his brain, along with the nauseous feeling that accompanied it, he was Dean Winchester, dammit, and he was going to hopefully get laid tonight if the flirting was anything to go by. He deserved a little fun after being in hell, no matter how much his body screamed at him it was _wrong_.

When the séance proceeded and Pamela began reaching out to whatever creature had brought back Dean, he suddenly felt so sick he thought he might need to excuse himself. His head throbbed, the mark on his arm burned so painfully it was like he was being freshly branded. Pamela asked to touch something the mystery creature had touched, and Dean reluctantly raised his sleeve. When Sam saw the mark, he exhaled sharply, jaw setting in that fashion that said he was going to murder something painfully.

" I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle. I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle. I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle," Pamela chanted, eyes shut, voice confident and clear. Dean jumped as the TV flipped on, static buzzing loudly in his head, eerily familiar. His stomach leaped into his throat, eyes squeezing shut, lungs burning. In the background, he dimly was aware of Pamela still speaking.

"I invoke, conjure, and command... Castiel? No. Sorry, Castiel, I don't scare easy," Pamela smirked, still cocky. Dean almost fell off his chair. _THAT NAME._ Dean gasped, and Sam's eyes shot up, locking onto Dean, remembering. Dean shook his head at Sammy, no way would he have been paired with some _monster_.

"Castiel?" Dean asked weakly, his voice almost non existent, throat tight.

"Its name. It's whispering to me, warning me to turn back," Pamela explained quickly, eyes still shut tight, grip on Dean's arm hurting now. She began chanting again, and the TV buzzed almost as furiously as Dean's head, whining sound increasingly frantically in pitch, candles flickering with an invisible breeze.

"Maybe we should stop," Bobby's voice was concerned, and Dean agreed with him, though he couldn't vocalize it, he was having a hard enough time squeezing air into his lungs.

I almost got it," Pamela insisted, "I command you, show me your face! Show me your face now!"

The psychic's eyes glowed furiously and when they burst into flame and sizzled inside her skull, Dean screamed almost as loud as she did. His heart racing, he kneeled beside her with Bobby, and he thought to himself he must have imagined his name being whispered amongst the white noise. Still, the fact they now knew this creature's name remained. _Castiel,_ his brain whispered at him _, it's name is Castiel._

As Sam dialed 911 and Bobby spoke to Pamela, trying to keep her still and calm, Dean covered his eyes and cried silent tears.


	5. in Which Soul Bonds and Grace Bonds are Fought Against

Dean had never been the most strategic person in the world. His brand of fighting was to leap headfirst and plow his way through the enemy, disregarding stealth and planning. In this situation, he was no different, much to Sam and Bobby's frustration.

"Dean! you can't just conjure the thing up and expect to SURVIVE!" Sam argued frantically with his brother. Dean just shrugged.

" Your plan isn't gonna work, Sammy. Since when did demons ever want to spill their guts to us in the non literal sense?" Dean scowled, eyebrows raised. Sam huffed in annoyance and Bobby was wearing his typical grizzly frown. "This is the only way. We gotta call...the whatever the hell it is," Dean trailed off, and Sam caught the painfully obvious attempt to avoid saying the name that had haunted his brother for years. He opened his mouth to says something to Dean that would probably end up being sappy and girly, and Dean quickly cut him off before he could. "I'm gonna take a nap. Crawling out of graves is exhausting," Dean announced, sinking onto the pull out couch of the motel and shutting his eyes. He hadn't been lying, and when Sam was sure his brother had drifted off, he took the keys and climbed into the car, driving to find some demons.

Dean was dreaming of hell, shifting uncomfortably, cold and aching inside his mind, when the television flipped on. The radio alongside the bed began to sizzle as well, and it was enough to jolt Dean awake, rubbing his eyes and hissing between his teeth, "Oh you have GOT to be fucking kidding me," Dean snatched up the shotgun from the bedside table, he wasn't sure where Sam was, and had no way of contacting him. Dean winced as the ringing sharpened, desperately trying to clutch the gun with at least one hand, the sound literally ear splitting. Dean felt blood trickle out of both ears as he clutched the right ear in his free hand and, finally abandoning the useless weapon, he clutched both ears and fell to the floor. His gut clenched, breath punched out of him, tears leaking from his eyes as he struggled to stay conscious, vision fuzzy. The mirror above his head on the ceiling shattered, and the shards cut into him harshly even as Dean used the last of his strength to roll mostly out of the way, screaming as the echoes in his head and chest reverberated until he thought he might be dying all over again. He was vaguely aware of Bobby bursting into the room, stretching a hand to him and calling his name at the same time something else did, and never had Dean's name sounded so terrifying.

Bobby thought Dean was crazy, and he told him so about a million times. With Sam gone, likely staking out some demons, Dean was free to continue his plan of summoning the bastard that was doing this to him. _Castiel,_ his mind so helpfully reminded him.

Dean had woken up in Bobby's beat up car, and everything ached, especially his chest and his ears. Dean cleaned himself up with a spare cloth and looked at Bobby, eyes wild and fierce.

"Bobby, whatever this is, whatever it wants, it's after me. That much we know, right? I've got no place to hide. I can either get caught with my pants down again, or we can make our stand," Dean's voice was firm, and Bobby knew the Winchester well enough that he had no expectations of Dean being persuaded away from this suicide mission.

"Dean, we could use Sam on this," Bobby said, brow furrowed in concern, clearly against the idea as a whole.

"Nah," Dean muttered, "he's better off where he is." Dean didn't want Sam to see this _Castiel_  monster first. Just in case. 

 

"You sure you did the ritual right?" Dean's voice was bored, eyeing the entrance to the warehouse, looking around at the sigils painted everywhere, the large devil's trap near the entrance. Bobby just gave him his "don't mess with me idjit" look, and Dean sighed. "Sorry, touchy touchy, huh?"

The rattling of the roof panels was unexpected, and Dean's heart leapt into his throat, and he jumped up and looked around, focused, with his gun held firmly in his grasp. The doors to the main entrance rattled, and Dean and Bobby both whirled around, guns pointed at the door. The doors slammed open at the same time the light bulb fizzled out, the creature standing just beyond the entrance. Dean almost collapsed, because he knew. _He knew. I_ t was just like his father used to talk about- soul mates and bonds. Dean felt physically ill as he forced himself to raise the gun and blast rock salt into the front of the creature. His chest constricted painfully, mind fighting body. _Mine, protect, need,_ his mind supplied from nowhere, and he gritted his teeth. The monster strode calmly forward, past the devil's trap, ignoring every single sigil; the rock salt blast didn't even make him flinch. Dean's mind catalogued what  _Castiel_ looked like, astonished because the creature appeared undeniably male, tousled black sex hair, five o clock shadow, body hidden under layers of an ill fitting suit and a long tan trench coat, dress shoes crunching over the rubble on the ground. 

"Who are you!?" Dean demanded, reaching for the knife behind him.

 _Castiel_ looked at Dean, and all Dean could think for several seconds was how blue those eyes were, such an odd shade that he couldn't help but get distracted. Mentally, Dean kicked himself, this thing wasn't even human, and since when had he even been attracted to men at all anyway?

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition," _Castiel_ responded, and Dean's knees buckled slightly, the dragged over sharp gravel voice pulled feelings out of him he didn't want and really didn't need at the moment.

"Yeah?" Dean snarked, his voice much weaker than usual but grip on the knife as unwavering as he could make it, "thanks for that." He whirled and plunged the knife deep into the creature's chest. Dean screamed with effort as as the knife sank deep, every instinct in his body crying out, muscles revolting against him, head pounding. _PROTECT, PROTECT, DON'T HURT!_   Dean cried out again, hand slipping off the knife. Some kind of expression crossed _Castiel's_ face, sorrow maybe, and it was gone as quickly as it was there. The monster gripped the magic knife, pulling it out of his body, dropping it to the floor and fixing those blue eyes impassively on Dean, who was leaning against the table, gasping for air, trying not to throw himself at the inhuman man in front of him. Dean noted dully that he didn't even BLEED, despite the fact the knife should have pierced his heart. His stomach dropped as _Castiel_ regarded him with curiosity, and when Bobby swung an iron at the creature's head Dean almost found himself shouting a warning; _mine, mine, need to protect, keep safe,_ his mind rattled over and over again in a loop. He thought for a long moment that he might pass out, vision black around the edges as he watched _Castiel_ grab the iron easily from Bobby, and touch two fingers gently to the older man's forehead, dropping Bobby to the ground unconscious.  

"We need to talk, Dean," _Castiel_ said, and God help Dean if that voice didn't do things to his chest and stomach and some places lower than that, " ** _ALONE_**."


	6. In Which Dean is NOT What the Angel Expected

If Castiel had ever thought he'd experienced bewilderment before, he knew it could never top the confusion he was feeling at this moment. Dean Winchester was nothing Castiel had thought he'd be. Castiel could tell at some level Dean knew he was his mate, the human's soul had leaped in joy at the sight of Castiel, somehow impossibly even brighter now in life than it had been in hell. Still, Dean shot a gun at him, and despite the obvious trembling in his muscles and the instincts screaming at him, the man had stabbed Castiel's vessel directly in his chest. The angel was indeed confused, a little hurt, and immensely impressed. 

Still, Dean was _breathtaking_. He moved with confidence, and though graceful would not be the word to describe him, there was something there that spoke of long years of practiced experience. His eyes were bright, expression fierce, and though he looked tired, Castiel sincerely doubted any other human or any mundane monster could best his mate in a fair fight. Currently, those eyes were tracking Castiel, as Dean leaned down to check the pulse of the older human man Castiel had rendered temporarily unconscious. 

"Your friend is alive," Castiel commented, confused why his mate would ever think he would hurt someone who was obviously trying to protect to Dean. 

Dean didn't respond to this, apparently having come to the same conclusion. Instead, he fixed green eyes on Castiel, expressionless, and asked again, with less bite in his words now, "who are you?"

"Castiel," the angel replied, brow furrowing because he thought this should have been completely obvious to the human by now. Surely Dean knew his bond mate's name? 

"Yeah," Dean sighed, and he sounded utterly exhausted, "I figured that much. I meant WHAT are you?" 

Oh. Castiel was starting to understand a bit more now. The Hunter in Dean was fighting the mate instincts. At least he could reassure Dean he meant no harm. "I'm an Angel of the Lord," Castiel replied, a little proud as he looked at Dean. 

Instead of having the desired effect of calming his mate, Dean's expression grew stormy and he glared at Castiel. "Get out of here. There's no such thing," the human spat the words like venom. Castiel could now honestly say he had no idea what was going on. There were several things at play here that did not make any sense. Vessels were always chosen because of two things, bloodline and devoutness. The fact that Dean Winchester was _THE_ vessel, the one hand selected for Michael, should have meant he was the most God fearing man on the planet. Yet, Castiel could tell, both through the mating bond and with his own eyes, that Dean quite honestly did not believe a word that was coming out of Castiel's mouth. It was irritating, and the mate in Castiel was growling its disapproval. 

"That's your problem, Dean," Castiel sighed, "you have no faith." It didn't take much effort on the angel's part to cause several quick, bright flashes of lightening, and he watched Dean's eyes widen as he glimpsed the shadows of the angel's wings splayed across the walls and ceiling of the run down warehouse. 

Dean straightened, eyes narrowing, and the muscles in his arms and hands were twitching as though he was attempting not to move. "Some angel you are," Dean's voice was a bit wobbly, though Castiel couldn't tell if that from the display of his wings or the mating instincts battering at him like they were screaming inside Castiel right now, "you burned out that poor woman's eyes."

Castiel winced slightly, still displeased with himself for that whole scenario, " I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be... overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice. But you already knew that."

Castiel watched the human regard him thoughtfully, his brain obviously turning over and digesting this new information while realization dawned on his handsome face. "You mean the gas station and the motel," Dean frowned, and Castiel felt a pang of guilt as he realized the blood stains and cuts on Dean were most likely a result of his ignorance, "that was you talking?"

Castiel had to swallow down the need to rush to Dean and touch him, to heal and protect the fragile skin like his grace was demanding he do, and unable to speak, he nodded the affirmative. "Buddy, next time, lower the volume," Dean rolled his eyes, and Castiel wondered if bravado and sarcasm was a default setting for his mate. It would certainly prove a challenge to understand him if it was. 

"That was my mistake," Castiel tried to keep his voice calm, reassuring, and apologetic, "Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong." If Castiel was being honest with himself, the fact that Dean wasn't one of these people was the oddest thing about this situation. Firstly, he was Michael's vessel, even more important in status than a prophet, and that alone should have rendered him able to observe angels in their natural form. Secondly, he was Castiel's grace mate, and the thought that Dean couldn't even hear his real voice after the angel had rebuilt him from bones up made Castiel far more irritated than he really should have been. He was about to ask Dean if he knew about their mate bond when the human cut him off.

"What visage are you in now?" Dean asked, "what, holy tax accountant?" His voice wavered interestingly on the words, jaw clenching, and Castiel observed this with curiosity. 

"This...this is a vessel," Castiel answered hesitantly, unsure how Dean would react to the fact that this was not really what the angel looked like. Dean's eyes had been traveling intently up and down Castiel's form, but when he spoke they snapped back up to his face with a look of disgust that surprised the angel.

"So you're possessing some poor bastard?!" Dean's voice was harsh and judgemental, and Castiel instantly understood how the word vessel could be misconstrued with demons. 

"He's a devout man. He actually prayed for this," Castiel hastened to reassure his mate. He hated the way Dean was currently looking at him. 

"Yeah, well I ain't buying what you're selling," Dean's face was still stormy, and Castiel was about to comment that he wasn't selling anything and had no use for human currency when Dean asked again, "so who are you, really?"

Castiel frowned, irritation seeping through his expression, and he huffed in annoyance, "I told you."

"Right," Dean's voice was sarcastic again, and Castiel knew it was going to take him practice to get used to the nuances of human vocal expression, "and why would an angel save me from hell?"

 _Because you're beautiful. Because you're perfect. Because I wanted to protect you the moment I saw you. Because you're mine and I'm yours and I've been searching for you for millennia._ "Good things do happen, Dean," Castiel said instead, voice a little strangled as he did his best to voice no declarations of love and intent. Those could come later. Dean was startled already, acting like a wild animal, and obviously fighting his instincts for some reason. Castiel thought it unwise to comment on the bond at this particular point in time. 

Dean inhaled sharply, eyes hardening and expression cold, and Castiel wondered if he'd said the wrong thing despite trying to be careful with his words. "Not in my experience they don't," was Dean's answer, his voice so quiet that if it weren't for the angel's supernatural hearing he wouldn't have been able to make it out at all. 

"What's the matter?" Castiel couldn't stop himself from moving forward, stepping into Dean's space, the need to reassure his mate almost overwhelming, "you don't think you deserve to be saved?" It was a question, but Castiel said it as a statement. He could clearly see that Dean thought himself unworthy, and Castiel found himself thinking many of the scars on that beautiful soul really must have been from life. He wanted to tell Dean how wrong he was, prove it with sweet words and gentle actions. Only the knowledge that his garrison was close by and the firm belief that his offers of comfort would be rebuffed kept him from reaching out. 

"Why'd you do it?" Dean's voice was no more than a whisper, and he was trembling so much that Castiel ached with it, and he responded the way any angel might to avoid the temptation to touch his grace mate.

"Because God commanded it," Castiel said, still standing well within Dean's space, "because we have work for you."


	7. In Which Castiel is Continually Surprised

Castiel's mate consistently disproved his expectations, and it was both impressive and infuriating. To the angel's frustration, after his first time meeting his grace mate in that warehouse, it was weeks before he saw him again, and then it was only to send Dean back in time. Dean was quite displeased with the suddenness of the event, and when Castiel told him about the seals and about the work that the angels were passing to him, Dean had resisted, he hadn't wanted the job. That had been completely unexpected. It seemed to be the Winchester way to do the complete opposite of what was asked. They were at odds right now, Dean Winchester struggling with the angels and the seals, and Sam Winchester struggling with the addiction to demon blood and unhealthy attractions to the demon Ruby. Castiel had yet to meet Sam, but he knew Dean's feelings about his brother, and while the angel in him was repulsed by the abomination that was the man with the demon blood, his grace was also telling him that he should treat his mate's family like his family. Castiel had to admit he was probably just as much at war with himself as the brothers were right now.

The next time Castiel saw Dean Winchester, it was also under unpleasant and duty related circumstances. The raising of Samhain was well under way, and the boys had already been investigating when Castiel and his garrison mate Uriel were sent down to Earth with new orders to take care of the issue. As Castiel flew swiftly to the run-down motel room the Winchesters were staying at, he couldn't help but feel his grace leap at the closer proximity to his mate. He composed himself, instantly reminded he wasn't alone. Out of all his garrison, Uriel was bound to be the least accepting of this abnormal grace mating. Castiel still hadn't mentioned it to anybody, he was debating what to do about this situation himself, still absorbing what was going on. Each time he was around Dean it got harder and harder to control the urges of the mating, to not claim Dean as his.

Sam burst into the room first, and his gun was drawn almost instantly, aimed at Castiel's chest. Castiel regarded him coolly, it wasn't like the gun itself could do much damage to him anyway. "Who are you?" the taller Winchester demanded, gun leveled in steady hands. Dean quickly followed him in, and upon seeing who it was he pushed down Sam's weapon, frowning.

"Sam, wait, it's just Castiel," Dean said, his voice steady but his eyes slanted at Castiel in a longing sort of way. Sam's eyes widened, he looked from his brother to the angel, and Castiel could practically see his brain working inside his head. Dean motioned his head to the dark angel near the window and frowned, "him, I don't know."

"You mean, _he's_ your-" Sam started to say, and Dean cut him off with a sharp shake of the head and a glare. "But, Dean, he's a-" Dean scowled furiously and Sam finally shut his mouth and frowned, eyeing the angel as if sizing him up. Castiel couldn't resist standing a little straighter, reminding himself he could take down this man with one finger, even if the human was half a foot taller than his vessel. Dean cleared his throat and Sam's eyes softened, and he stepped closer to the angels. "Oh my God," he said, reaching a hand out to Castiel, "I didn't mean to... I mean, it's really an honor to meet you, seriously!" Castiel stared at the hand for a second, his limited human interaction made him awkward to human tradition, and when Sam mimed a shaking motion he finally remembered the proper protocol and shook his hand. The angel wasn't sure whether Dean's brother was treating him so fondly because he knew he was supposed to be Dean's mate, or because he was an angel, or some combination of both. Still, Castiel's grace recoiled a little bit at the touch, and his vessel's skin crawled.

"And I, you, Sam Winchester. The boy with the demon blood. Glad to see you’ve ceased your extracurricular activities," Castiel said with an incline of his chin, blue eyes focused on the man, though in actuality he desperately wanted to be gazing at Dean. Sam looked at him knowingly, eyes a little sad and a little calculating at the same time.

"Let's keep it that way," Uriel's deep but less gravelly voice piped up from where he was staring out the window, and Dean and Sam turned to give him matching scowls.

"Yeah, okay, Chuckles," Dean muttered, and Castiel almost cracked a smile at the fearless way Dean spoke even to angels he didn't know. Dean turned to fix his gaze on Castiel, and the angel drew a deep breath he didn't technically need, hands clenching. "Who's your friend?" Dean asked, his eyes narrowed, and Castiel swore he could sense jealousy in his tone. Uriel's gaze bore into Castiel's back, and he neatly avoided the question to avoid reassuring his mate of his affections.

"The raising of Samhain; have you stopped it?" Castiel asked, gazing unblinkingly into Dean's green eyes. 

"Why?" Dean asked, ever the one who opposed whatever was asked of him. Castiel scowled and held up a hex bag, the powerful magic stinging his fingertips, and the fact that his mate would have been dead tomorrow if Castiel hadn't been here made him livid.  

"The witch knows who you are, too," Castiel practically growled the words, his teeth clenched as he imagined the beauty and quirks of his mate dead once more. Seeing Dean unmoving and cold and decomposing once was hard enough, Castiel wouldn't have been able to do it a second time. "The raising of Samhain is one of the 66 seals," Castiel continued, sensing Uriel shifting behind him. Dean immediately and predictably grew impatient.

"So this is about your buddy Lucifer again," Dean sounded disappointed, and Castiel wished he could visit Dean just once on his own, court him like he deserved.  

"Lucifer is no friend of ours," Uriel's voice was annoyed, and Castiel guessed he didn't like the amount of talking back he was getting from the humans before him.

"It's just an expression," Dean sounded just as fed up with Uriel as the angel was with him.

"Dean," Castiel's voice was softer than he had wanted it to be, and Dean looked at him with curious eyes, "the breaking of the seal must be avoided at all costs. You have to kill the witch before she can succeed." Sam had been watching the whole altercation carefully, eyes bouncing back and forth between Dean and Castiel, and he finally spoke up.

"Well, we know who she is. If we work together we can-" Sam was cut off my by Uriel whirling and glaring at both the humans.

"Enough of this," Uriel demanded, power crackling through his words. Castiel frowned, mouth open to speak and stupidly defend his mate and his mate's brother when Dean spoke up.

"Okay," Dean said, with a tone full of attitude, "Who are you and why the fuck should I care?" Uriel's fist clenched and he looked like he about to smite something, so Castiel quickly stepped in, subtly positioning himself between Uriel and his mate.

"This is Uriel, part of my garrison. He's a...specialist," Castiel said, glancing at Dean. Dean's hand slipped towards his gun, immediately on guard.

"What kind of specialist?" Dean's voice was harsh, face hard, "what are you gonna do?"

"You-" Castiel started to say, and then mentally reminded himself there was another human besides his mate in the room, "uh- both of you- need to leave this town immediately." Dean looked startled, and then suspicious, and Castiel despised the distrust his grace mate already harbored for him.

"Why?" Dean asked, voice sharp.

Castiel fidgeted, looking at his hands as he answered, "because we're about to destroy it." Sam and Dean looked at each other, and back at Castiel and Uriel, and the horrified way Dean was looking at Castiel made him want to flee, or maybe soothe it away. He could do neither, and so instead he looked at the floor, grace beating at him inside his vessel. 

 


	8. In Which Dean Causes an Angel to Have Doubts

Dean had never been more pissed in his entire life. Or, if he had, he sure as hell couldn't remember it. "You're gonna smite the whole fuckin' town?!" Dean spluttered, brain whirling as his fists clenched and he glared at Castiel. The angel looked bereft, almost enough so to make Dean calm down, but Dean had always been stubborn.

"We're out of time, the witch has to die and the seal must be saved," Castiel explained, blue eyes begging Dean to listen, to understand. Dean growled his disagreement.

"There are a thousand people here! You're willing to kill them all?!" Sam exclaimed, expression aghast, and he took a step forward. Castiel's eyes only flickered to him briefly before settling on Dean again.

"I understand this is regrettable," Castiel murmured, tone infuriatingly even, and Dean wanted to punch him or kiss him or something in-between, and his skin tingled.

" _Regrettable_?" Dean kept his tone scathing and cold, and saw his would-be-mate flinch almost imperceptibly.

" It’s the lives of one thousand against the lives of six billion, there’s a bigger picture here," Castiel's eyes were big and blue, and Dean's lips tingled, body screaming at him, "Lucifer cannot rise; he does and hell rises with him. Is that something that you’re willing to risk?"

Sam stepped between Dean and Castiel, and Dean knew that look. That was Sam's _you're-not-fucking-touching-my-brother_ look, and Dean almost shoved him aside before he remembered what was going on here and ground his teeth instead. "We'll stop this witch before she summons anyone. Your seal won't be broken and no one has to die," Sam wasn't asking or begging, now. Sam was definitely as pissed as Dean was.

"We're wasting time with these mud monkeys," Uriel piped up, and Dean saw Castiel twitch, the angel's eyes narrowing at his colleague.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said, eyes on the floor now, body slumping, "We have no choice."

Dean snapped, the limit of his temper reached, and he outright snarled at the angel, watching Castiel's eyes snap up towards him and body go taunt as a bow, "Of course you have a choice; I mean, come on, what? You’ve never questioned a crap order, huh? What, are you both just a couple of hammers?"

"You think you can stop us?" Uriel's voice was incredulous and a little bit amused, and Dean wanted to shoot him between the eyes, even if he knew it wouldn't do much good, "Castiel, I will not let these peo-"

Castiel's hand flew up, and for a second Dean thought he was going to hit the other angel. Instead, Castiel looked at Dean, gaze appraising, and Sam shifted closer. "Enough," Castiel said firmly, frowning as his eyes bored into Dean, "I suggest you move quickly."

 

Dean got into the Impala with Sam, and true to form, it wasn't long before Sam caught on to a lead in the case, all from the condition of the bones in the hex bag. Dean really wasn't much help, he was too busy trying to crush the butterflies in his stomach, kill the tingling in his fingers and toes. He hated this feeling; he hated it with a passion. "I didn't think they'd be such dicks," Sam muttered as they drove back to the school to follow the lead on the witch, eyes locked on Dean.

"I tried to warn you," Dean replied, immediately knowing to whom his brother was referring to, his body so tense he felt like he was made of stone. Sam looked at him appraisingly, mouth turned into a frown.

"Dean, he's your bond mate. I know he is. I've seen the way you are around him. You know it too," Sam's voice was soft, understanding in the way only Sam could be. Dean scowled.

"He's not _human_ , Sammy. Don't you dare fucking try to tell me he's meant for me. All of that is crap," Dean fumed, eyes focused firmly on the road, " You saw what a dick he is, and that body isn't even _HIS_ , Sam. He's possessing the dude. Then there IS the whole issue of the fact I'm not _GAY_."

Sam's expression was getting dangerously close to puppy eyes, and Dean pointedly kept his gaze away from him. "Dean," Sam implored, "You know exactly what can happen if you refuse to complete the bond. You'll get sick, you'll waste away. Castiel might be invulnerable, but YOU aren't. You have to do something."

Dean turned up the radio so loud he couldn't hear Sam if he was screaming at the top of his lungs, and from the corner of his eye he saw his younger brother heave a huge sigh. 

 

In the end, the Winchesters fail. Dean really should have seen it coming, should have seen that Sam wasn't magically cured and that he couldn't fix everything. Samhain was raised, even if he was defeated the same night, and with the raising another of the angels' precious seals were broken. Dean wants to not care, but he thinks of the earnestness Castiel speaks with, and the mate in him makes his stomach churn. Dean goes through the motions of salting and burning the entire mausoleum, zombies destroyed for good, and he tries to focus on the fact he saved the town, and not look at his little brother wiping blood from his nose in the aftermath of sending the very powerful demon back to hell. Dean was terrified of his own brother, he was probably going to die from bond refusal because he was never ever going to let a creature who wasn't human claim him, and now he had the seals breaking to worry about as well. Overall, this had been a really peachy couple of days.

When the boys got back to the motel, they packed their duffle bags to leave the next day, exhausted and aching from the fight. Dean wasn't sure whether right now he'd rather be alive or back in hell. When he fell asleep, he dreamed of cutting into souls, torturing and maiming, and he dreamed of warm light cutting through the bitter cold. He woke up with his arm burning and in a terrible mood.

 

Dean snuck out of the hotel when the sun rose the next morning, going to the nearby park and settling on a wooden bench, eyes trailing over the people. As the morning wore on, moms with their children started to arrive, and he found himself watching the kids play, a subtle reminder of what he had saved. He knew the moment Castiel appeared beside him, his stomach leaped, and he ran trembling fingers through his short hair. "Let me guess," Dean said, feeling drained, "you're here for the 'I told you so.'" He glanced sideways, and saw Castiel watching the playground, sun playing patterns across his face.

"No," Castiel replied, gravelly voice monotone as usual, and his eyes slid over to meet Dean's.

"Well, good," Dean sighed, "'cause I'm not really that interested."

"I am not here to judge you, Dean," Castiel replied, and Dean heard the unspoken undercurrent to his words, _'I could never judge you; you're what I want the way you are'_.

Dean rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, groaning in irritation, "then why are you here?"

"Our orders were not to stop the summoning of Samhain, they were to do whatever you told us to do," Castiel's response was said plain and simple, and Dean's head snapped up.

"Your orders were to follow my orders?" Dean questioned disbelievingly. Since when did heaven ever listen to someone like Dean, even if he was a hell of a lot less dickish than the angels he'd met?

"It was a test," Castiel explained, voice lilting a little now, and a small smile played along his chapped lips, "to see how you would perform under, battlefield conditions, you might say. "

"So I uh -- failed your test huh? I get it. But you know what? If you would have waved that magic time travelling wand of yours and we had to do it all over again, I’d make the same call," Dean was firm and fierce, though he knew he had bags under his eyes and his body was trembling and shivery with fever from the close proximity of his would-be-mate, "'cause see, I don’t know what’s gonna happen when these seals are broken, hell, I don’t even know what’s gonna happen tomorrow. But what I do know is, that this, here? These kids, the swings, the trees, all of it is still here because of my brother and me."

"You misunderstand me, Dean. I’m not like you think, I was praying that you would choose to save the town," Castiel's voice was earnest, so much so that Dean had to look at him, and Castiel looked right back with that intense way that felt like he was looking right through Dean's soul. "Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?" Castiel inquired, voice dropping an octave, making Dean shiver all over again.

"Okay," Dean murmured, kicking himself for being so casual. Eloquent speech was never his strong suit.

"I’m not a…hammer as you say, I have questions, I have doubts. I don’t know what is right and what is wrong anymore, whether you passed or failed here. But in the coming months you will have more decisions to make, and I don’t envy the weight that’s on your shoulders, Dean. I truly don’t," Castiel told him softly, and Dean could hear the concern in his voice, the mate in him was calmed by it. Dean dug his fingernails into his palms, trying to keep from vomiting and passing out at the same time. "Dean..." Castiel said, voice whisper soft, "we should really talk about this. I understand human anatomy- I know how ill-"

" _Stop_ ," Dean shifted in his seat, voice louder than he had meant it to be, "it's not gonna happen, Cas, you got that?" Castiel looked at him, and this was probably the most emotion he'd ever shown around Dean, his eyes worried and sad, mouth turned down around the corners.

"Take care of yourself, Dean," Castiel replied, and when Dean turned to scowl at him, Castiel was gone.


	9. In Which an Angel Discovers What it is to Be Worried, and a Human Fights Biology

By the time the Winchester brothers cross paths with Anael, Castiel had been tracking Dean's health and whereabouts daily. He's careful about it, stealing away to keep tabs on his mate when the rest of the garrison is otherwise occupied, and always returning before they realize he's gone. The angel had never felt this emotion before; granted, as an angel he didn't normally feel a wide range of emotions anyway, but the feeling that currently resided in his grace was strong and acrid and wholly unpleasant. It made him feel faintly ill each time he saw Dean and the human looked a little worse; Dean was losing weight and had developed a cough, the golden skin Castiel had so lovingly crafted was now consistently paler than usual. The angel knew why it was happening, bond withdrawal was well documented in human history, but the fact it was happening to his mate and he could do nothing about it was driving Castiel insane. He couldn't force Dean to accept him or listen to reason, and so he hovered instead, keeping track of Dean's vital signs and trying to keep the hardest hunts and monsters out of his path. When Michael called Castiel and Uriel back to heaven, Castiel was sure he had finally been found out, that Dean's symptoms had finally become severe enough that the angel's superiors had noticed.

 

Michael looked at them as they appeared before him, giant, pale eyes expressionless, and Castiel felt his grace tremble inside his vessel. The archangel looked at the two seraphs, silent for a moment, and finally said, voice as tremendous as ever, "Little brothers, do you remember Anael?" Castiel could have laughed with relief; instead he bowed his head and nodded.

"She was in our garrison, brother," Castiel replied, "she fell for the human world." Michael nodded using several of his true form's heads.

"She's alive on Earth," Michael sounded annoyed, which was never a good sign, "the chosen vessel is with her currently. I need you both to go find her, and end her existence." Castiel inhaled sharply, head snapping around to look at Uriel, who remained impassive and dutiful as ever. Orders were orders; Castiel needed to remember that. "Take this," Michael's voice boomed, and a long spindly arm made of light handed a little vial to Uriel, "it's Anael's missing grace. Keep it safe at all costs. Do you understand?"

Castiel nodded, stricken speechless, and Uriel smiled at Michael, "We understand brother. As you say, it will be done." Michael dismissed them with a wave of one of his hands, and the two lesser angels catapulted back down to Earth.

 

Dean was always surprised when he was recognized, and this young redhead knew not only who he was, but Sam as well. "You're _the_ Sam Winchester?" she asked, looking at the taller Winchester, and when Sam nodded she looked at Dean, gaze intense, "and you're Dean Winchester. _THE_ Dean Winchester. It's really you. Oh, my god. The angels talk about you. You were in hell, but Castiel pulled you out, and some of them think you can help save us. And some of them don't like you at all. They talk about you all the time lately. I feel like I know you." Dean took a step back, startled, and Sammy looked at him for a second before turning back to the girl; Anna, Dean reminded himself.

"So, you talk to the angels?" Dean asked, a little wary. He didn't want any more angels tailing them than there already were.

"Oh...no, I just kind of...overhear them," Anna replied, frowning, "it all started on September eighteenth."

Dean exhaled sharply, which made him go into a fit of coughing so bad that Sam stepped over and handed him water. "The day I got out of hell," Dean said, voice raspy. Anna looked at him in a critical way, and finally nodded. "First words I heard, clear as a bell -- _'Dean Winchester is saved,_ '" she told him, eyes boring into him. "Castiel was shouting that so loudly it was impossible to miss." Dean coughed again, eyes watering. He hated hearing that name. That name made his heart leap and stomach churn, and he felt sick enough as it was. "Dean, is he your...?" Anna placed a gentle hand on his arm, and Dean struggled to breathe for a second.

"Not important," Dean muttered, scowling, "we need to figure out what to do here." The door was flung open at that moment, Ruby standing there, and that's the moment everything went to hell.

 

Dean had never, and will never be a match for Alistair. Whether that was a product of inbred fear from hell, or simply the fact that he was a really fucking powerful demon, Dean didn't know, but he did know in a fair fight he'd get demolished a hundred times over. The boys barely escaped the church, the demon-bitch Ruby having fled with the girl who could hear angels, and Dean was currently sitting in a filthy motel room, on an equal disgusting bed, watching his brother sew up the cut on his own arm he'd received from tossing himself out a window. "So your demon buddy has her now. Is she seriously safe?" Dean was dubious, his instincts screamed at him to not trust anything from hell. Sam glanced at him, Dean was holding his arm awkwardly because of the dislocated shoulder, and noted the bags under his older brother's eyes.

"I trust Ruby," Sam replied evenly, "after you were gone, she saved my life. Ruby came back for me. Whatever you have to say, she saved me. More than that, she got through to me. What she said to me... It's what you would've said. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't be here." Dean stared at his brother for a second, reading between the lines. Sammy was in deeper with this demon than Dean would have ever guessed. Sam popped Dean's shoulder in on the count of three, and Dean gasped with pain. Sam frowned as he touched his brother, all Dean felt like was skin and bones, and Sam could almost count the columns of his spine through his thin t-shirt. "Dean, you look awful," Sam gave his brother his best bitchface, "you need to talk to Castiel and see what you can do." Dean shoved away his brother, rubbing his injured shoulder with his good hand.

"Don't wanna talk to or about the son of a bitch," Dean growled, "I'm _fine_ , Sam. Quit it." Sam opened his mouth to argue when there was a knock on the door.

 

So, Dean had to admit that Ruby was a little helpful sometimes, and when they made it to the cabin that the demon had stashed Anna in with no further issues, he decided to hold back the insults and questions for now at least. "I guess I owe you for Sam," Dean groused, voice gruff, "so... you know..."

"Don't strain yourself," Ruby sighed sarcastically, but she didn't seem overly hostile. Anna interrupted by asking about her parents, and Sam looked at Dean quickly before kneeling next to her and whispering apologies. Dean rubbed his temples; he knew no amount of sympathy would ever take that pain away. Anna looked on the verge of tears when her head snapped up suddenly, hair flying, and she looked wide eyed at Sam and Dean.

"They're coming," she whispered, bordering on hysterical, and Dean felt his stomach drop as the door burst open and he saw Castiel and Uriel on the other side. He had to turn to the side and heave for a second, body quaking violently, and he saw Castiel's hand reach for him for a second before he pulled it back to his side again. Dean wiped his mouth and forehead with his sleeve, and noted how big the jacket was hanging on his skinny frame, and he forced himself to look up at the angel.

"Please tell me you're here to help. We've been having demon issues all day," Dean's voice was rough and hoarse, and he saw Castiel wince slightly. Uriel just looked plain irritated.

"Well, I can see that. You want to explain why you have that stain in the room?" Uriel scowled in an arrogant sort of manner, and Ruby tensed, Sam shifting closer to her. Castiel stepped closer to Dean, violating his personal space, as always, so close Dean could smell him, lightning and rain and fresh earth.

"We're here for Anna," Castiel's voice was firm, and Dean felt his knees betray him and tremble ever so slightly.

"Here for her like... here for her?" Dean stepped in front of Anna protectively, as though he could prevent the angels from touching her. Castiel looked sad and weary for a moment, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, and Dean wanted to reach out and wipe that expression away.

"Stop talking, and give her to us," Uriel demanded, voice so powerful the cabin trembled.

"Are you gonna help her or what?" Sam asked, sounding suspicious, and Dean knew the feeling. The way Uriel and Castiel were talking made him very uneasy.

"No," Castiel responded, rough voice hiding an emotion that Dean couldn't place, "she has to die." Dean's legs finally gave out, and he collapsed to the floor, kneeling in front of Anna and struggling to keep himself conscious.


	10. In Which Dean is in Trouble and the Angel Discovers Jealousy

Sam's face was aghast, body tense and wavering between reaching for Dean and defending Ruby. Castiel was twitching, eyes locked on his mate, who was currently clinging to consciousness by a thread, desperately digging his nails into his palms until he felt his vessel bleed. "You want to kill Anna?" Sam hissed, "why?"

"Out of the way," Uriel demanded, reaching as if to fling Dean out of his path. Castiel almost exclaimed out loud, reaching for Uriel to stop him, when Dean wavered to his feet, wobbly.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean's voice was weak and raspy, and Castiel shivered, "okay, I know she's wiretapping your angel chats or whatever, but it's no reason to gank her." Castiel almost sighed in exasperation, it was so typical of his mate to defend another even as he was dying himself. Others, not himself, were always first in Dean's book.

"Don't worry," Uriel's smile was absolutely predatory, "I'll kill her gentle." Anna couldn't help crying out, and Dean stood a little more firmly, adrenaline sinking in.

"You're some heartless sons of bitches, you know that?" Dean was angry now, and if Castiel were any kind of lesser being, he would have felt rather threatened by his tone. Instead, he just felt wounded by the words coming out of Dean's mouth, how his mate truly thought of him.

Uriel laughed, proving Dean's point, and Castiel's fists clenched. "Anna's an innocent girl!" Sam piped up again, sounding almost as threatening as his brother, and he walked up to stand by Dean, imposing in height alone.

"She is far from innocent," Castiel defended, inching closer to Dean, the skin of his vessel tingling with the proximity.

"She's even worse than the abomination you've been screwing," Uriel added, and Castiel could tell he was seconds away from killing everyone in the room just to make it easier, "now hand us the girl."

"Sorry. Get yourself another one. Try JDate," Dean quipped, and Castiel winced, his mate's typical cockiness wasn't going to win any favors with Uriel.

"Who is going to stop us?" Uriel smirked, "You? This demon bitch?" Castiel flinched as Uriel flung out a hand, smashing the demon into the far wall. Dean leaped at Uriel, face twisted into a snarl, and Castiel did cry out now, turning quickly to Uriel to demand he cease action. Uriel slammed his fist directly into Dean's stomach, and his already weak body crumpled under the angel's strength. Castiel winced, grasping Uriel's arm, yanking on him hard enough that Uriel turned to face him with a confused expression. Castiel had just opened his mouth to explain when a bright light engulfed both angels, and they were flung far away from the tiny cabin, and consequently he was flung far away from his hurting mate.

  
Dean could tell the minute he came to that the beating had broken some ribs, the tight sharp pain was familiar; it definitely wasn't the first time he'd had the same injury. The also horribly familiar feeling of the mate withdrawal was making him feverish, and he couldn't stop shivering, which in turn made his ribs hurt even more. He growled in exasperation, and Sam leaped to his side, worried face hovering over him. "Dean, Dean are you okay?" Sam's hands hovered over him, unsure of where the injuries were. Dean tried to sit up and gave an involuntary gasp of pain.

  
"Broke some ribs, I think," he managed to grind out through his chattering teeth, "gimme a minute." Sam stepped back and watched with worried eyes as Dean painstakingly managed to lever himself into a siting position, one arm wrapped around his torso. "So what the fuck was that?" Dean asked, looking around to see no angels in sight.

  
"Me, I think," Anna piped up from the other side of the room, and Dean glanced at her. Her arm was bleeding, but she looked otherwise okay, though she so pale with fear she looked sickly. Anna motioned to a mirror Dean hadn't noticed before, and there on the mirror was a sigil written in blood, one that apparently had the power to get rid of angels.

  
"Did you kill them?" Dean asked, and his voice was more quivery than he had expected it to be, heart dropping into his stomach at the thought of his mate dead. _HE'S NOT MY MATE_ , he quickly corrected his thoughts, and he forced himself to his feet, Sam reaching to steady him. Ruby watched silently and knowingly from the corner of the room, also looking none to worse for wear.

  
"No," Anna said, and Dean inwardly sighed with relief, "I just sent them far away. I don't know how I did it...it just popped into my head." Dean's eyes narrowed at her, and he turned to Sam.

  
"Come on, we've got to get somewhere safer than here. Angels might have been sent to the outfield, but they won't be there for long," Dean muttered, and he limped out the door, Sam and Anna's worried eyes following him the whole way.

 

 

The events that followed were totally typical shitty situations that would only happen to Winchesters. Dean couldn't help but think, not for the first time, that they must have a family curse or something. Dean had thought bringing Pamela to see Anna and figure out what was going on was a great idea, hoping they'd have an ally against the dick angels. Pamela put Anna into hypnosis, dug into her brain, and what came out was completely 100% unexpected.

  
Anna was an angel. Just like Uriel, and just like Castiel. Dean really didn't need that shit.

  
"Don't worry, I'm not like the others," Anna said, face calm and poised for the first time since they had met her. "Castiel and Uriel are the ones who came for me? We kind of used to be in the same foxhole."

  
"Of course..." Dean said weakly, and why did everybody have to know Castiel somehow? "So what, they were like your bosses or something?"

  
"Try the other way around," Anna said with a smirk, and Dean couldn't help but grin.

  
Turned out Anna, aka Anael, had fallen, literally, and become human. She ripped out her grace, her energy, and came to Earth, reborn as a miracle baby. This was apparently the equivalent of the worst thing you could do as an angel, and now she had a death sentence on her head from the angels' side and a torture and capture sentence on the demons' side. They were so completely screwed.

  
"I'm going to get it back," Anna announced, voice resigned, "if I can find it, I'm going to get my grace back."

  
"You can do that?" Dean asked dubiously, still more than a little taken aback at this whole situation. At least his fever had died down with Castiel far away from him, and the hex bags that Ruby gave them were keeping the other angels from finding them again, "so, what, you're just gonna take some divine bong hit, and, shazam, you're Roma Downey?"

  
A small smile played along Anna's lips, "Something like that."

  
"All right. I like this plan. So, where's this grace of yours?" Dean asked, cracking his knuckles.

 

 

 

Sammy, ever the smart one, figured out an approximate location of Anna's grace from the date she was conceived as a human baby and the area she lived in as a human, searching back in the records to see if there were any astronomical abnormalities. Dean spent the research time talking with Anna, she bandaged his ribs and he found her surprisingly funny, and refreshing. She really hadn't been lying when she said she wasn't like the other angels. Dean couldn't imagine Castiel ever smiling with him like this. He regretted it almost as soon as he thought of the angel, his stomach flipping so hard he had to sit down, and Anna watched him and kneeled beside him, placing a gentle hand on his forehead.

  
"I understand you not wanting to take Castiel as a bond mate," Anna looked at Dean thoughtfully, her hand sliding down to his shoulder, "but you've got to figure out a game plan here, or you'll die." Dean rubbed his face and looked at the not-quite-angel, green eyes sad.

  
"You know, the only thing I remembered in Hell was that name," Dean muttered, head throbbing, "he sure isn't what I pictured. Not at all." Anna smiled, her hand sliding up to cup Dean's cheek, eyes soft.

  
"Out of all my brothers," Anna murmured, eyes locked onto his, "trust me when I say you landed the best choice." Dean frowned, brain turning this over, and was interrupted by Sam calling them over.

 

 

 

  
It seemed rather ironic that grace would create something as magically beautiful and huge as an oak tree, when all Dean had seen grace used for was killing and destruction. When they arrived at the location, in Union, Kentucky, they all piled out of the car, and Dean inhaled sharply at the gorgeous sight of the field and the tree, it looked ethereal, unnaturally beautiful. _Kind of like Castiel_ , his mind told him, and he reached into the car and took a swig of bad whiskey from the bottle he kept in the glove compartment, Sam shooting him a bitchface. Dean pointedly ignored him; if he was going to deal with a throbbing headache he was allowed a drink or two. Of course, to top it all off, that was the moment Anna turned to them and simply said, "it's not here. Not anymore. Someone took it." Dean tossed the keys to Sam, climbed into the passengers seat, and proceeded to drink half the bottle of whiskey before passing out.

 

 

 

  
Castiel was experiencing another unpleasant emotion he wished he would have never discovered in his entire exsistence. He and Uriel were tossed into the far corner of Russia by the banishing sigil, luckily still in their vessels. His grace hurt with the forced flight, but the minute Castiel became aware of himself again, he took off, disappearing without a word to Uriel, worry over his mate giving him focus. Dean didn't know it, but Castiel had been monitoring him for some time now, trying to keep him as safe as possible with the bond withdrawal weakening him more every day. He knew precisely where the group was headed, despite whatever spell was now blocking him from sensing his mate. Castiel flew directly to Bobby Singer's house, through the floor into the basement, to what they called the "panic room," and that was where he drew to a stop, instantly masking his grace to not alert Dean he was there through the bond, and making his vessel invisible and soundless.

Anael was touching his mate. She was carefully binding his broken ribs, laughing and talking with Dean, the Winchester's face and expression light and smiling in a way that it never was around Castiel. Castiel felt his grace churn unpleasantly, the urge to defend the so far non-existent claim on his mate almost overwhelming. Anael was whispering to him, and Castiel turned his hearing away, he really didn't want to know. He watched as she kneeled next to Dean, easily touching his face and shoulder, with a familiarity Castiel desperately wanted. He understood what this emotion was now, the angel had heard of it enough times to know. _Jealousy_ , he thought, hands quivering with the urge to smite Anael where she stood. He refrained, killing her would do nothing for his relationship with Dean, and all he wanted right now was to run his fingers over that stubbled jaw like Anael was doing. He left abruptly, Uriel would no doubt be wondering where he was, and he had some explaining to do. The feeling followed him all the way back to Russia, his thoughts full of the way Dean had smiled around someone other than Castiel.


	11. In Which Dean is Cocky and Castiel is Miserable

Dean was twitchy, anxious, and sore as hell. The group was at a standstill, no longer had any clue where Anna's grace was, and Dean certainly was not in his best fighting shape. "We still have the hex bags, I say we head back to the panic room," Dean muttered, and of course he had a hangover on top of everything else. At least he hadn't dreamt of **_HIM._**

"What, forever?" Ruby was sarcastic as usual, just as annoyed as everyone else.

"I'm just thinking out loud!" Dean snapped, rubbing his throbbing temples.

"Oh, so you call that thinking?" Ruby's expression was close to a snarl, and Dean was about to punch the bitch when Sam interrupted.

"Hey! Hey, hey, hey! Stop that!" Sam pleaded, puppy eyes set at full blast. Dean scowled at him in defiance and Ruby sighed.

"Anna's grace is gone. You understand? She can't angel up. She can't protect us. We can't fight heaven and hell. One side maybe, but not both. Not at once," Ruby was all but shouting, and Dean gathered she was just as anxious as the rest of them.

"Umm...guys?" Anna piped up, voice unsure, "the angels are talking again."

Sam glanced at her through the rear view mirror, eyes narrowed, "what are they saying?"

"It's weird... like a recording... a loop. It says, 'Dean Winchester gives us Anna by midnight, or...'" Anna trailed off, face so grave that Dean's stomach dropped.

"Or what?" Dean's voice was gruffer than he meant it to be, but his fear was starting to bleed through. Anna looked at the floor, avoiding eye contact with him, and when she spoke it was in a whisper.

"Or we hurl him back into damnation," she said, and Sam inhaled sharply at the same time Dean growled in frustration. Anna looked up at Dean and he looked over his shoulder at her, and her eyes spoke more than words could. If Dean died and got thrown back into hell, Castiel might perish too.  Dean didn't quite know how to feel about that, and he shut his eyes, stomach churning. They needed a plan. 

 

 

Anna approached Dean while he was reading a book of angel lore, hunched over the hood of the Impala. She stopped at his shoulder, and he looked up at her with a weak smile. "How are you holding up?" Dean asked, turning to face her.

"A little scared, I guess. I wanted to thank you," Anna replied, eyes on Dean, traveling over his face. He swallowed hard and forced out a laugh.

"Hey, that's kinda a thanks for trying speech, you know? Participation trophies suck ass," Dean joked, smiling as best as he could at her.

"Maybe I don't deserve to be saved," Anna told him, and Dean's stomach twisted, a deep gravelly voice echoing those words inside his head, back in the warehouse, "I knew what I was doing. This is murder one for angels, worst thing I could do, the worst crime I could commit."

"We've all done things we've gotta pay for," was all Dean could think to say, swallowing the lump in his throat. He almost flinched as Anna reached for him, leaning in as if about to kiss him, and Dean stiffened, body taunt as a bow, and he turned his head away. "Sorry," Dean muttered, "I mean..." Anna smiled at him, and yeah, she was beautiful, but her eyes weren't that ethereal shade of blue, there was no chiseled jaw or shadow of stubble, no jet black sex hair, and Dean just couldn't touch her. His skin crawled and he jerked away, afraid for a second he would throw up.

"I know," was all Anna said, a little sadly, though Dean didn't think it was because of the rejection, "Castiel is a good angel. He's a good soldier...but he's always been a little off, a little different. Give him a chance, Dean, you never know. You were crafted for him after all, and that would make you two a first. Angels have never been crafted to couple with a human in the entire history of Earth." Dean pressed a hand over his mouth, trying to breathe. "Be careful, Dean," Anna whispered, and she walked away, gravel crunching under her feet, and Dean slumped across the hood of the car.

 

 

Ruby disappeared later that night, off to continue the plan, and Dean settled in to sleep, downing some pain pills for his head and slumping down to rest. Of course, being Dean Winchester, even his own dreams weren't private.

"Look at that," Uriel's quite unwelcome voice sneered, "it's so cute when monkeys wear clothes."

Dean wanted to scream in exasperation, but instead he wisely responded, "I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

"It's the only way we could chat, since you're hiding like cowards," Uriel responded, ever superior.

Dean silently wondered if you could kill an angel in dreamland, "Don't normally see you off leash. Where's your boss?"

"Castiel? Oh, he, uh...he's not here. See, he has this weakness. He likes you," Uriel told him, and Dean shivered at the blatant mention of Castiel's fondness for him. Apparently, even the other angels were noticing, and Dean couldn't help but wonder if that meant bad things were coming for Castiel as well as Anna. "Time's up, boy. We want the girl," Uriel demanded.

"Wouldn't try that if I were you. See, she got her grace back. Full-blown angel now," Dean bluffed, cocky smirk on his face.

"That would be a neat trick, considering I have her grace right here," Uriel chuckled, pulling a little glowing vial from around his neck, hanging on a chain, "we can't let hell get their hooks into her."

"You could just give her back her angel juice," Dean said reasonably, gut clenching as he resisted the urge to punch the angel.

"She committed a serious crime," Uriel responded, eyes studying Dean, "and if I'm right, there might be another angel with criminal secrets around here."

Dean swallowed convulsively, and when he spoke his voice was quiet and rough, "I have no clue what you're talking about."

Uriel laughed, a dark kind of sound, and he cracked his knuckles, "So Castiel has nothing to do with you, then. When I throw you back in Hell, he will go on completely unaffected?"

Dean bit his lip, almost thinking he could wake himself up that way, "yup, that's right. Besides, you're junkless down there, right? Like a fucking Ken doll."

Uriel curled his lip in disgust, "This is a whole lot bigger than the plan we have for you, Dean. You can be replaced."

Dean sensed a huge bluff, and so he just snickered, giving the dark angel his best grin, "I don't break easy."

The angel eyed him, calculating, and finally smiled, "I guess I just need to know where to apply the right pressure." Uriel vanished, and Dean finally let himself slump, rubbing his eyes, gut churning unpleasantly with worry for Castiel.

 

 

Dean woke with a start, feeling just as exhausted as when he had fallen asleep, and he pulled out a bottle of alcohol and took a long pull. Sam frowned at him, and Anna eyed him with concern.

"Hey, where's Ruby?" Sam asked, glancing around as if she might pop up.

"I dunno, she's your hell buddy," Dean groused, taking another swig of alcohol and relishing the way it burned down his throat.

"Isn't it a little early for that?" Anna asked observantly, and Dean sighed.

"It's two am somewhere," Dean muttered, and Anna put a hand on his shoulder.

"You okay?" she asked, shaking him gently.

"Yeah, of course," Dean said, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth his stomach leapt into his throat and he wavered where he was sitting, only Anna's hand holding him upright. The doors to the stable flew open and Castiel and Uriel stood there. Castiel's blue eyes immediately connected with Dean's, and he saw the angel's eyes widen as he took in the pallor of his skin. Dean knew he must look pretty damn awful. The rest of the scene passed in a blur, Dean's already weak and alcohol addled mind fueled only by adrenaline.

Anna talked with Castiel, claiming he had no idea of emotion, of the feelings of being sorry. She spoke of orders, of permanence, of the obedience of a soldier. Dean could relate, and he watched Castiel, posture slumped and sorrowful. Dean thought to himself that Cas might be feeling more emotion than he should angelically be feeling.

And then the demons joined the clusterfuck party. Alistair's eyes landed on Dean with a proud sort of smirk, and Dean wanted to vomit. He watched the angels face off with the demons, each posturing, sizing each other up. Castiel offered the demon an out, told him to leave, and as was typical, Alistair just laughed it off. When both sides finally leaped at each other, clashing in a battle that could be pulled straight from the Bible, Dean picked up an iron crowbar. He might as well join the party, after all, screw the weakness he was feeling at that moment.

Dean had just swung the crowbar at a lesser demon when he caught sight of Castiel facing off with Alistair, and a pang of flat out fear shot through his body like a lightning bolt. He ran towards them, watching as Castiel placed a hand on Alistair, attempting to smite him, and nothing happened. Alistair laughed, "Sorry, kiddo, why don't you run to daddy?" and followed up with some twisted version of an exorcism, Castiel gasping and choking in pain. Dean reacted without thinking, swinging the crowbar with all his strength into the back of Alistair's head, making the demon hiss in pain before he whirled and looked at the human, Dean trembling where he stood. Castiel shook himself, and his eyes connected with Dean's, wide and so blue and hopeful. Dean barely had time to register what he saw there before the archdemon launched himself at Dean, Sam coming up on his other side to help fight him off. Anna whirled around in the other corner of the room, a demon dying next to her and the vial of grace in her hand, and Uriel shouted as she smashed it. 

"SHUT YOUR EYES!" Anna shouted, a sharp bright light and piercing noise cutting through the din, and Sam and Dean hunched over, covering their faces, and when they looked up all the demons, including Alistair, were gone, and Anna was nowhere to be found.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Dean smiled innocently at Uriel, "go get Anna. Unless, of course, you're scared?"

"This isn't over," Uriel growled, and Dean laughed.

"Looks pretty over to me, junkless," he told the angel, stretching easily as if he had no care in the world. Uriel scowled and vanished abruptly, leaving Castiel standing there, staring at Dean in that uncomfortably intense way he seemed to have.

Sam cleared his throat, and Dean glanced at him, having a silent conversation with his younger brother, and Dean nodded. Sam took Ruby by the arm and began pulling her outside towards the Impala. Castiel didn't even glance at them, focused on Dean.

"You saved me," is the first thing Castiel said, doing the little confused head tilt thing that Dean really shouldn't find so adorable, "why?"

"I don't know," Dean answered honestly, running fingers through his hair, "it was kind of automatic."

Castiel stepped into his space, and reached for Dean, touching him for the first time, hand running down his cheek and jaw in a caress that left Dean a bit breathless, skin tingling and head clear for the first time in weeks. "You're meant for me, you know," Castiel murmured, and Dean leaned closer, eyes half shut.

"Yeah, I've known since I met you," Dean sighed, forcing himself not to touch the angel right back.

Castiel's brow furrowed into a confused frown, and Dean wanted to smooth the wrinkles away, "Why are you fighting it, fighting me?" Castiel asked, and the misery and hurt was evident in his voice. Dean was starting to get an idea of why Anna had said this brother was different than the others.

"I don't want to be paired with something that's not human," Dean said, voice soft, "or, I didn't. I'm still not sure, Castiel. I haven't seen much to prove why I should choose someone like you besides basic biology."

The hurt that crossed Castiel's face made the mate inside Dean scream its displeasure. "I will prove it to you, Dean Winchester. I will show you I am worth your time and affections. I've been waiting for you for millennia. I can wait as long as it takes," Cas responded, jaw set and eyes flashing as he made the vow, "in the meantime, will you allow me to heal your afflictions?"

Dean didn't even need to think about that, he felt so sick and weak it was disgusting, and his broken ribs were making it hard to even breathe, "yeah, if you could, that'd be kinda nice."

Castiel reached out a hand, curling his palm around Dean's cheekbone, brushing a thumb over the corner of his mouth, and Dean felt the sickness and pain ebb away, body strong and vitality restored in a matter of seconds. "Please," Castiel told him, eyes flickering from Dean's mouth to his eyes, "don't do anything that might put yourself in danger. I have been rather... distracted with worry."

Dean was about to respond that he was a damn hunter and his life WAS danger, when Castiel pressed soft, chapped pink lips to his, only for a moment, before disappearing, leaving the familiar empty ache inside Dean behind.

Dean stomped out to the car, fighting tears. Ruby was gone, and only Sam stood there, leaning against the Impala. "Dean?" Sam asked, worry written all over his face, "what happened?"

Dean slumped into the driver's seat, face buried in his hands, and Sam climbed silently into the passenger's seat, waiting for Dean to speak or move.

"I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing, Sammy," Dean told him, voice thick with tears, "I wish I couldn't feel a goddamn thing."


	12. In Which Dean Gives the Angel Hope

Castiel was antsy in a way that was driving him mad. After he left Dean standing in the barn, he flew quickly to an isolated area of the artic, landing amidst the snow and ice and standing there for a minute, silent, before slamming his fist into a glacier with a cry, the ice splitting with a mighty crack and avalanching to the rocky ground. He stood there, vessel shaking, emotion running through him. He wasn't sure what to do anymore. Uriel knew now, he could tell that clear as day, and Castiel knew his life was in danger at this very moment. The minute Michael got word that Castiel was bonded to a human, the seraph knew he would be killed... and still his very grace ached, pulled on him, tugging Castiel back towards North America where the beautiful soul of Dean Winchester resided. Castiel had only gotten one taste, one caress, and yet he knew he couldn't go back now. He belonged by Dean's side.

The angel watched while Dean continued with hunting, with the missions that gave him purpose. He watched while Dean told his brother about Hell, about the things that Castiel himself had seen Dean doing to souls, and the pain that radiated off his mate made the angel want to hold him and never let go. He steeled himself and remained out of reach, invisible, watching his charge. Dean fought on, and even though Castiel had restored his health for the time being, bond withdrawal was incurable even by angelic power, and Dean was fading again, even more quickly than before. Dean's headache came back as he investigated the two feral children in Nebraska, his concentration less intense than usual. He began coughing again by the time that the Winchester brothers fought the magicians in Iowa. When the boys returned to an old high school of theirs to investigate a haunting, Dean began losing any weight he had gained back, skin paler than usual, cough lung rattling. He began having tremors, and Castiel ached watching him. The angel wanted to go heal him again, make things easier, make Dean want to trust him, but his garrison remained close by, watching as he did, murmurs of confusion at the vessel's declining health ran in loops through Castiel's consciousness. If Castiel were to go heal Dean, it would be blatantly obvious exactly what was going on to the entire garrison. Only Castiel's touch could heal Dean, and it was the one thing he couldn't give.

Dean went up against a siren. Castiel almost flew to him, almost forced him not to go, but Uriel appeared by his side, knowingly smiling, and turned to Castiel, "it would be a real shame if the vessel died before Michael could even enter it, wouldn't it?" Castiel ground his teeth together, clenched his fists so hard the knuckles cracked, and said nothing.

The siren tried to attract Dean to a woman, strippers with little clothing and glitter everywhere. It made Castiel feel ill to see Dean around these women, the type of women the human would normally enjoy being with. The siren couldn't sense the bond because it wasn't complete, and Castiel saw it become very confused when it couldn't attract Dean to its womanly form. Instead, it went for a platonically friendly form, a man with the same tastes as Dean, and when Sam and Dean were pitted against each other, Castiel watched in horror. Sam could easily kill Dean in his condition, and that would be heart wrenching for everyone involved. Castiel had flown to the scene of the fight, just in time to see Bobby Singer kill the monster, Dean and Sam both worse for wear. Two days later, Dean began coughing up blood.

 

 

"I'm tired, Sam," Dean muttered, slumping in the passenger's seat and trying to stop the third nosebleed he'd had that day. Sam looked at him in concern from the driver's seat, frowning. "I'm tired of burying friends, Sam," Dean sighed, collapsing forward and coughing wetly. His brother winced, hands gripping the wheel tightly.

"Look Dean," Sam kept his tone level and even, "we catch a fresh trail-"

"And we follow it, I know. Like I said, I'm just—I'm just getting tired," Dean groaned, and Sam could understand why. His older brother looked absolutely terrible, pale, thin as a skeleton, and constantly exhausted. Sam cleared his throat, debating what to say.

"Well," Sam responded, "get angry instead."

 

 

The minute Dean walked into the shitty hotel room he knew exactly who was standing there. His stomach flopped to his feet, and he swayed where he stood, Sam placing a firm hand on his shoulder and flipping on the light.

"Winchester and Winchester," Uriel said, inclining his head in arrogant recognition. Castiel shifted uncomfortably, shuffling a step towards Dean, face conflicted.

"Oh, fuck, come on," Dean grimaced, holding his stomach with a hand. Castiel twitched, and Dean eyed him carefully from the corner of his eye.

"You are needed," Uriel smirked, looking Dean up and down, "if you don't collapse on the way there." Dean heard Castiel hiss between his teeth in anger.

"Needed?" Dean coughed, "we just got back from being needed." Sam interrupted quickly, trying to diffuse the tension.

"We just got back from Pamela's funeral," he explained, sighing.

"Pamela. You know, psychic Pamela? You remember her. Cas, you remember her. You burned her eyes out. Remember that? Good times. Yeah, then she died saving one of your precious seals. So maybe you can stop pushing us around like chess pieces for _five freaking minutes!"_ Dean ranted, voice breaking on the last words as he doubled over and began coughing, Sam coming to pound his back, Dean pressing his jacket to his mouth. When he could finally breathe again, his sleeve was red with blood. Castiel inhaled sharply and took a quick step forward, only stopping when Uriel shot him a look.

"Dean," Castiel whispered, gravelly voice even rougher than usual, "I know this is difficult to understand..."

"And WE don't care," Uriel interrupted, glaring at Castiel, "Now, seven angels have been murdered, all of them from our garrison. The last one was killed tonight."

That got Dean's attention, and his head snapped up, looking at Castiel, "Demons? How are they doing it?"

"We don't know," Uriel told him, and Sam crossed his arms, scowling.

"I'm sorry, but what do you want us to do about it? I mean, a demon with the juice to ice angels has to be out of our league, right?" Sam asked, exasperated, "plus, we really need a break. In case you haven't noticed, my brother isn't feeling too well." Dean shot Sam a glare, the force of it weakened by how sick he looked.

Uriel's lip curled in a sneer, "we can handle the demons, thank you very much."

"Once we know who it is," Castiel added, voice soft and pleading. \

"So you need our help hunting a demon?" Dean asked, using the corner of his t-shirt to wipe his sweaty forehead.

"Not quite," Castiel murmured, and the tone of his voice set Dean on edge, " we have Alistair, but he won't talk. His will is very strong, and we've arrived at an impasse."

Dean huffed a laugh, which ended in another coughing fit, and Sam handed him a water bottle, and he took a swig and a breath, "yeah, well, he's like a black belt in torture. I mean, you guys are out of your league."

"That's why we've come to his student. You happen to be the most qualified interrogator we've got," Uriel sounded disgusted by the whole idea, and Dean wanted to hit him.

"You're our best hope," Castiel told him, and how was Dean supposed to argue with that pleading voice.

"No, no way, you can't ask me to do this, Cas. Not this, anything but this," Dean whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Who said anything about asking?" Uriel snapped, and abruptly, the room was empty except for Sam, who turned in a circle and slammed his fist into the wall.

 

 

Dean blinked, vision fuzzy, and he swayed dangerously, leaning against something warm and solid. As his head cleared, he realized he was clinging onto Castiel's shoulder, and let go like he'd been burned. Dean scowled, turned on his heel, and stomped away, "Where's the fucking door?"

Castiel looked alarmed, "where are you going?"

"Hitch back to Cheyenne, thank you very much," Dean snapped with as much venom as he could muster with those blue eyes looking at him. He stomped away from Cas, running directly into Uriel, who was about as forgiving as a stone wall.\

"Angels are dying, boy," Uriel frowned at him, cracking his knuckles.

"Everybody's dying these days. And hey, I get it. You're all-powerful. You can make me do whatever you want. But you can't make me do this," Dean snarled, shoving at Uriel's chest furiously.

"This is too much to ask, **_I_** know," Castiel sounded despondent, "but we have to ask it." Dean studied Castiel for a second, the angel tensing a little under the scrutiny, and finally he sighed.

"I wanna talk to Cas alone," Dean announced, glaring at Uriel as if he was daring him to argue.

"I think I'll go seek revelation," Uriel said, tone light, "we may have further orders."

"Yeah well get some fucking donuts or something while you're out," Dean snipped, and Uriel boomed a laugh.

"Ah, this one just won't quit, will he? I think I'm starting to like you, boy," Uriel looked a Castiel when he spoke, and Castiel clenched one fist, eyes glowing as he tried to control his temper. Dean watched Uriel vanish and shook his head.

"You guys don't walk enough," Dean told Cas, "you're gonna get flabby." Castiel just stared at Dean, one hand reaching for him in a pleading manner. Dean took a step forward and then paused. "You know, I'm starting to think junkless has a better sense of humor than you do," the human told Castiel, frowning.

"Uriel's the funniest angel in the garrison. Ask anyone," Castiel told Dean seriously, holding out the other hand pleadingly. Dean sighed, and walked into Castiel's reach, letting the angel slide his hands to cup his jaw.

"What's going on, Cas? Since when does Uriel put a leash on you?" Dean asked quietly, eyes shut as Castiel's nimble fingers traveled over the curve of his lips.

"My superiors have begun to question my sympathies," Castiel whispered, trailing long fingers over Dean's cheekbones.

"Your sympathies?" Dean asked, though he had a feeling he already knew the answer.

"I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You. They feel I've begun to express emotions. The doorways to doubt. This can impair my judgment," Castiel told him, and Dean felt his heart shatter. He opened his eyes, looking at Castiel. The angel was staring at him just as he had from moment one, like he was a puzzle, a precious and wonderful thing the angel needed to unlock. Dean reached for Castiel for the first time, tracing fingers over his stubble just like Cas had done to him, and watched the angel's eyes flutter, licking his lips. Dean sighed, and realized his chest felt clear, and there was no headache.

"So basically, I'm getting you into trouble," Dean murmured, watching Castiel's face.

"You're worth it," the angel responded, "you've always been worth it." In the next moment, Castiel had leaned forward, and he was kissing Dean, lips chapped but so soft, and Dean smelled and tasted ozone and electricity, like he was tasting the sky.

 

Dean never wanted this to end, but he knew right beyond that door was the worst nightmare of his life. He clutched the lapels of Castiel's coat and kissed him right back, losing himself in the warm, glowy feeling of _**mate**_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. In Which Castiel Provides Some Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say a big thank you to all you readers, we're almost up to 1500 views and your comments and kudos are what spurred me on. Congrats on Chapter 13! may there be many more to come!  
> xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

All too soon, the kiss ended, Dean slipping away with a sigh, and Castiel almost had to physically restrain himself from pulling him back. Dean looked at the angel, those brilliant eyes dulled and fatigued. "Tell Uriel, or whoever, that you do NOT want me doing this, trust me," Dean told him, and Castiel shut his eyes for a second, his grace literally howling inside him, instincts of a mate fighting instincts of a soldier.

"Want it, no," Castiel whispered, voice rough, "but I've been told we need it." Dean was shaking his head before Castiel even finished his sentence, and he had to clear his throat several times before he spoke.

"You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks back out," Dean told him, voice scratchy with suppressed emotion. Castiel reached for his face, and Dean jerked it away. The angel studied his mate for a second, and never had he felt an emotion this intense, his vessel even responded to it, eyes becoming shiny and wet. Castiel pressed his fingers to them and looked at the dampness left behind, startled.

"For what it's worth," Castiel told his mate, and his grace ached with every word, "I would give anything not to have you do this."

Dean shut his eyes, a palm pressed over his face, and when he glanced at Castiel again, the look in his eyes was enough to strike fear into the angel, "I'd only do this for you, Cas."  Castiel flinched as if he'd been struck, and the human grabbed the loaded cart of demon torture equipment, and wheeled it into the next room, slamming the door behind him. Castiel remained motionless, grace rolling around, conflicted.

  
  


  
  


Dean would rather be anywhere else than standing in a concrete room looking at the one thing that terrified him most in the universe. Yes, the archdemon was trapped and motionless except for his head, but Dean's very core was trembling, some unpleasant mix of fear and hate churning together inside him until he felt ill. Alistair watched him come in, singing playfully, laughing, smirking, completely unafraid. Really though, why should he be afraid? Dean wondered to himself, setting up his cart and doing his best to ignore the demon.

Dean bantered with Alistair, keeping his voice as firm as he could, forcing his hands not to quiver, demanding answers again and again, and of course, the demon being who he was, quipped back every single time, laughing at Dean, insulting him. Dean was good, he was holding his own, and then Alistair mentioned his father.

"John Winchester. Made a good name for himself. A hundred years. After each session, I'd make him the same offer I made you. I'd put down my blade if he picked one up," Alistair told him gleefully, apparently pleased with the fact that he now had Dean tense.

"Just give me the demon's name, Alistair," Dean practically growled, and the demon pointedly ignored him.

"But he said nein each and every time. Oh, damned if I couldn't break him," Alistair rambled, sighing as if he was insulted by this, "pulled out all the stops, but John, he was, well, made of something unique. The stuff of heroes. And then came Dean. Dean Winchester. I thought I was up against it again." Dean took several long drinks from a bottle of whiskey, likely put there by Castiel, and set it back down, picking up the holy water instead. "But daddy's little girl, he broke. He broke in thirty. Oh, just not the man your daddy wanted you to be, huh, Dean?" Alistair goaded, sly smirk on his face.

"You know something, Alastair? I could still dream. Even in hell. And over and over and over, you know what I dreamt? I dreamt of this moment," Dean told the demon, picking up a long syringe and needle, "and believe me, I got a few ideas. Now lets get started."

Alistair's surprised and nervous glance at the syringe in his hand made Dean smile. 

  
  


  
  


Castiel remained in the next room, tense as stone, and when Alistair's screams began to ring out through the building, they seemed to cut right through him. He imagined his handsome mate cutting into and torturing the demon, and for the first time in his exsistence he felt physically revolted, felt the unpleasant sensation that he might vomit, and he clutched his hands to his mouth, praying fervently to a Father he hoped could hear him.

 

 

Dean worked well into the night, slicing, dicing, injecting holy water under skin, flaying flesh and doing everything and anything he had in his learned arsenal of torture. He grew colder and more harsh with each drop of blood, face set like stone, mouth in a permanent snarl. Alistair continued to taunt him until it was difficult to speak, until Dean finally struck fear into him. And still, Alistair didn't tell Dean who was killing the angels. The thought that Castiel might be next on the list made Dean slice that much harder, relishing the violent screams from the bound demon. When the faucet behind Dean turned slowly, water dripping from above, it went completely unnoticed.

 

 

Castiel was still praying, listening to the screams, when the light bulb above his head flickered and burst, dimming the room. He didn't have to turn around to tell who was there.

"Anna," he murmured in acknowledgement, straightening his shoulders.

"Hello, Castiel," Anna replied, and Castiel turned to look at her, making sure his expression was impassive.

"You shouldn't be here. We still have orders to kill you," Castiel told her, deep voice monotone. Anna smiled knowingly.

"Somehow I don't think you'll try. Where is Uriel?" she asked, and Castiel frowned.

"He went to receive revelation," Castiel said, and he couldn't help his wince as an extra sharp scream rang through the building.

"Why are you letting Dean do this?" Anna asked, her voice cold, tone disapproving. Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose.

"He's doing God's work," he said, voice level and sounding just like any other soldier. Anna scowled in contempt.

"Torturing? That's God's work? Stop him, Cas, please, before you ruin the one real weapon you have," Anna pleaded, touching Cas' arm, "before you ruin the one gift you really have. There will never be another Dean Winchester, Castiel."

"Who are we to question the will of God?" Castiel burst out, frustration and conflicting emotions making him snap.

"Unless this isn't his will," Anna responded softly, and Castiel inhaled a breath he didn't really need, "The Father you love. You think he wants this? You think he'd ask this of you? You think this is righteous?" Castiel hissed through his teeth, covering his face with a palm, and Anna sighed, "what you're feeling, Castiel, is called doubt." Castiel felt his fists clench as another scream rang through the air. "These orders are wrong and you know it. But you can do the right thing. You're afraid, Cas. I was too. But together, we can still-" Castiel growled, and Anna stopped talking, taking a step back from him.

"I am nothing like you!" he shouted at her, eyes shiny again, "you FELL!"

"And you're FALLING!" Anna yelled right back, pointing at the door to the torture room, "you're falling for HIM. Whether you actually rebel from heaven or not, you are already HIS."

"GO!" Castiel snarled, and Anna looked like she was about to argue, but shut her mouth and disappeared. Castiel wiped his eyes furiously.

 

 

Dean's world was shattered. It stopped spinning for a moment, his head reeling, stomach sick. He knew instinctively Alistair wasn't lying to him. The first seal had been his weakness. He had started the entire apocalypse by torturing innocent souls. He whirled around, knife in hand, ready to kill the bastard. "When we win, when we bring on the apocalypse and burn this earth down, we'll owe it all to you, Dean Winchester," Alistair laughed a gurgly bloody laugh, and Dean gripped the knife even tighter, "believe me, son, I wouldn't lie about this. It's kind of a religious sort of thing with me." Dean chuckled darkly.

"No. I don't think you are lying. But even if the demons do win..." Dean told him, a cold sneer on his face, "you won't be around to see it." In the next second, Alistair was gone, and Dean startled, whirling around to see the demon behind him.

"You should talk to your plumber about the pipes," Alistair laughed, and he tore into Dean. The next thing Dean knew, pain was exploding through his body so badly he thought he was in Hell all over again.

Alistair held Dean up against the wall by his throat, Dean's face demolished and bloody, and the demon sneered in disdain, "You got a lot to learn, boy. So I'll see you back in class bright and early Monday morning." Dean felt his vision start to go fuzzy, black around the edges, when he was abruptly dropped, inhaling air through his crushed windpipe with a gasp, and he caught sight of Castiel stabbing Alistair directly in the heart with Ruby's knife. Alistair looked down at the knife, watching it spark a bit before dying out, and he looked at Castiel, smirking, "looks like God is on my side today." Castiel twisted his hand and the knife twisted itself deeper into the demon's chest, making him gasp with pain. Alistair yanked the knife out, dropping it, and launched himself at Castiel. Dean reached a hand out, twitching, but he couldn't move any more than that, almost unconscious with the pain.

Castiel fought valiantly, exchanging blow after blow with Alistair, but the match wasn't even and Alistair slammed Castiel against the wall, holding him by the throat. "Well, like roaches, you celestials. Now, I really wish I knew how to kill you. But all I can do is send you back to heaven," the demon scowled, chanting in Latin, and Castiel choked, grace seeping through his eyes and mouth as white-blue light, dim ringing sounding in Dean's ears. Dean gasped, starting to drag himself along the floor towards Castiel, whimpering with the effort.

All of a sudden, Alistair was the one choking, clutching his throat, wheezing, and Dean saw his brother walk into the room, hand stretched out, focused on the demon.

"Stupid pet tricks," Alistair gasped, and Sam curled his lip in a snarl.

"Who's murdering the angels? How are they doing it?" Sam demanded, and Dean shivered at the tone and raw power of his little brother. Castiel watching from the floor, eyes wide.

"You think I'm gonna tell you?" the archdemon tried to laugh, but it was choked off before he could.

"Yeah, I do," Sam twisted his hand, Alistair's eyes turned white, and Dean began trying to inch himself to Castiel again, instinctively seeking his mate.

"It's not us, we're not doing it!" Alistair wheezed, fingers scrabbling at his throat, "Lilith is not behind this. She wouldn't kill seven angels. Oh, she'd kill a hundred, a thousand." Sam paused, frowning, and Alistair hissed in a breath. "Oh go ahead, big boy. Send me back, if you can."

"Oh, I'm stronger than that now," Sam grinned, and Castiel started, reaching for Sam, "now I can kill." Dean tried to shout, but Sam stretched out a hand, Alistair screamed as golden light shot out from his vessel, and the body slumped onto the floor. Dean reached Castiel's knee, touching his hand to it, and his vision blacked out, body finally succumbing the his injuries.

 

 

Castiel sorrowfully watched his mate in the hospital bed, bandaged in every visible area, breathing tube forcing air into his lungs, and the order not to heal Dean rung in his head. Sam hadn't understood why Castiel couldn't mojo Dean back to normal, and if Castiel was being honest, he really didn't understand why he couldn't, either. The biggest question here, though, was how the devil's trap had broken. Castiel felt sorrow, and regret. He understood why humans were driven to extremes when overcome with this emotion. It was an aching, broken feeling, and he wanted nothing more than to grab Dean, heal him back to his beautiful self, and whisk him away from all this. He had let his mate down, and it was the worst feeling in the world.

Castiel spoke to Uriel, and the feeling that something was wrong increased exponentially. Castiel decided to talk to the only angel who might understand his predicament.

"Anna, Anna, please," Castiel prayed, begged, and the streetlight above Castiel flickered, Anna appearing behind him.

"What do you want from me, Castiel?" Anna's voice was impatient, and Castiel swallowed hard.

"I'm considering disobedience," Castiel told her, and Anna nodded.

"Good," she told him, and Castiel shook his head.

"No, it isn't, for the first time, I feel..." Castiel trailed off and Anna sighed.

"It gets worse. Choosing your own course of action is confusing, terrifying," Anna told him, and a half smile appeared on her face, "but I think you might find Dean is worth the trouble."

"I don't know what to do, tell me what to do!" Castiel whispered fervently, and Anna shook her head at him.

"Like the old days? No. I'm sorry. It's time to think for yourself," Anna frowned at him, and she disappeared.

 

 

Castiel worked it all out, and it helped that he had had suspicions from the very beginning. Uriel was behind all the murders, some twisted sense of duty driving him, and killing each angel that refused to join him in his mad quest to bring back Lucifer. Uriel used Lucifer's angel blade to murder his own brothers and sisters. The battle with Uriel would have killed Castiel, he would have lost and left Dean behind, and as Uriel slammed his fist again and again into Castiel's face, blood pouring from his vessel, all Castiel could think of was Dean, how he had to get back to him, had to live in order to see him again. Castiel raised his hands in one last, weak defense when a blade pierced Uriel through his throat, light flashing and his vessel dropping to the floor dead, Anna standing behind him. Castiel blearily looked at the floor, at the ash wings burned on either side of Uriel, and silently wondered how many more of his brothers needed to die.

 

 

Castiel returned to the hospital as soon as he had healed and cleaned himself up, mentally exhausted in a way he couldn't ever remember being. He landed beside the hospital bed, Sam had been there at first, of course, but after a few whispered pleas from the angel, the younger Winchester had reluctantly agreed to leave the angel alone with Dean. Castiel sat in a chair next to the bed, studying his mate, fingers trailing lightly over the bandages, eyes narrowed and brow crinkled in thought. He was relieved to see that Dean was now breathing on his own, and though his eyes were shut Castiel could tell he was awake.

"Are you all right?" Castiel murmured, lightly brushing Dean's cheekbone.

"No thanks to you," Dean answered, his voice raspy, and Cas frowned.

"You need to be more careful," he told Dean, fingers finding the curve of his mouth, pausing at the split in the center of the lower lip.

"You need to learn how to manage a damn devil's trap," Dean snipped, and Castiel couldn't help but smile ever so slightly.

"That's not what I meant," Castiel explained, "Uriel is dead."

"You killed him?" Dean opened his eyes, surprised, and Castiel scowled.

"He tried to have you killed," was the angel's explanation, and really, it was enough.

"Was it the demons?" Dean asked, voice trembling.

"It was disobedience," Castiel responded, with a weary sigh, "he was working against us."

"Is it true?" Dean's voice was little more than a whisper, and Castiel trailed his hand through Dean's hair, "did I break the first seal? Did I start all this?"

"Yes. When we discovered Lilith's plan for you, we laid siege to hell and we fought our way to get to you before you-" Castiel broke off, his own voice cracking, and cleared his throat, "We were... I was too late." Never would Castiel get over the guilt for the pain his mate had to carry because he had been too slow in his rescue.

"Why didn't you just leave me there, then?" Dean asked, voice so honest and so full of pain that Castiel wanted to shake sense into him, if he weren't already injured.

"Why?" Castiel spoke slowly, as if he couldn't believe his ears, "it's not blame that falls on you, Dean, it's fate. Not to mention the fact I couldn't have left you there if I tried. The minute I saw you, touched your soul, that was the minute I became yours. Being without you seemed... and still seems... the worst idea I could ever think of. I belong to you, whether or not you ever return the sentiment, and I will remain close by until the day you tell me yes, and then every day after."

"Well," Dean said, and Castiel startled when he realized Dean was crying, moving his hands to wipe away the tears, "if it's my fate you angels are depending on you guys are screwed. I can't do it, Cas. It's too big. Alastair was right. I'm not all here. I'm not-I'm not strong enough. Well, I guess I'm not the man either of our dads wanted me to be. Find someone else. It's not me."

Castiel felt his grace, his heart, shatter, and he simply couldn't take it any more. He pressed his palm to Dean's cheek, and in the next minute Dean was completely whole, not a scratch on his perfect body.

"I thought you couldn't heal me," Dean frowned, "not that I'm not grateful, but..."

"I had orders not to. I am disobeying," Castiel said simply, and grabbed Dean's hand, flying them to a remote cabin in the middle of Europe, landing an instant later. He held onto Dean to keep him from toppling over, and Dean swatted at him.

"What the fuck, Cas?!" Dean exclaimed, looking around at his surroundings in confusion. "Where are we? Why did you bring me here?"

"We both need a break, Dean," Castiel told him, and he wasn't lying, his very essence was exhausted, "whether we spend it talking, you sleeping, or consummating the bond, I think we just need some time away. This place is warded and only I am aware of its location. We have time."

Dean flushed at the implications of Castiel's statement, and he looked around at the cabin and the clearing. Everything was so green, even the trees had moss growing on them, and the air was clear and crisp. He inhaled deeply, relishing the clearness of his lungs and the lack of pain. "What about Sammy?" Dean asked, predictably worried about his brother.

"I have his permission," Castiel smiled, "not that it was easy to gain." Dean laughed at that, and finally looked over his shoulder at the angel.

"So, are you coming, or what?" Dean asked gruffly, and Castiel felt his grace leap inside him. 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	14. Profound Bond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so we've made it and it's finally happening... LE SEX. So here's me telling you explicit (very explicit) sexual content is about to happen. I'm assuming if you're reading this story you knew it was going to happen sooner or later anyway, but just in case... don't say I didn't warn ya. Enjoy!  
> xoxoxoxoxxooxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxo

Dean had never been more nervous in his entire life. He had never had problems with _physical_ self image; he knew was pretty damn good looking, and he had never in his life had issues picking up women, but there was something different about baring your skin for your mate, showing him all of you and trusting he likes it. Add into account that Dean had never been with a man and had no idea where to even start, other than what he liked himself, and that created one nervous wreck. The only thing that made it even slightly better is that Dean knew Castiel had even less experience than him, but even that didn't seem to provide much comfort. So, Dean did the only thing he could- he stalled. He found a river running behind the log cabin and showed Castiel how to fish; Castiel didn't really understand the recreational value of it, when the angel could simply snap his fingers and the fish would literally leap out of the water onto the bank of the river. Dean couldn't remember the last time he laughed so hard.

Dean had Castiel mojo a TV and blu-ray player into the cabin so he could show Cas some movies, and other shows. He found himself watching Castiel more than he was watching the films, studying his face with some amusement. Castiel watched movies like he didn't understand what was going on, his brow furrowed and head tilted in confusion. During Star Wars, Dean had asked Cas if there was something he didn't get, and the angel had looked at him and told him he knew for a fact there was no such universe and if someone like Darth Vader actually existed the angels surely would have smited him a long time ago. He then followed up the statement by asking if Darth Vader had ever showed any signs of being demonic. Dean had snorted a laugh and changed the movie to something not so science fiction. They discovered Castiel liked action films, especially Indiana Jones, even though parts of that confused him too.

Every night, when Dean curled up to sleep, he debated asking Cas to "sleep" with him in the bed. The angel had informed him he did not require sleep, but Dean had always liked waking up with a warm body next to him. The only thing that kept him from asking was the fact that every morning since he'd been here alone with Castiel, he'd woken up with some of the worst hard ons in his life. He hadn't jerked off in the shower this much since he was a teenager. He also noticed that the longer he stayed with Castiel the better he felt, physically. His lungs were clear, cough was gone, no headaches plagued him, he was gaining back weight and muscle tone, and the sun outside was bringing color back into his skin. He felt better than he had in years, besides the sexual tension that was driving him insane. He started noticing the little things about the angel, the stiff way he held himself, the way his hair constantly looked like he had just crawled out of bed, and especially the color of his eyes when the sun hit them just right. Dean thought he could die looking in Castiel's eyes and be perfectly happy.

Dean lost track of how long they stayed at the cabin, ignoring the passing of days and nights, just relishing the time with Castiel. The angel never mentioned the bond, he just tagged along with whatever Dean was doing, never letting him out of his sight. The human began to question how angels even consummated bonds, if sex was even an option with Cas. After what must have been at least a week at the cabin, Dean got his answer.

  
  


  
  


Dean clambered out of bed with a yawn, wearing nothing but loose pajama pants, and stumbled into the kitchen for coffee, which was blessedly already made. Thank God he had taught Castiel how to use the coffee maker. He poured himself a cup, raising it to his lips to drink when suddenly there were warm arms around his bare waist, long fingers running over his hip bones and soft, chapped lips trailing over the arch of his neck. Dean moaned softly, tilting his head back and resting it on Castiel's shoulder, and the angel nosed his way up to Dean's ear. "Do you know how appealing you look like this?" Cas asked, breath warm on Dean's skin. Dean shivered and huffed a laugh, putting his coffee down.

"I just woke up, dude. My hair must be a mess, I haven't even had my coffee yet," Dean told him, smiling. Castiel surprised him by nipping the nape of his neck, and Dean was glad he had put his coffee down because he probably would have dropped it otherwise.

"Like I said," Castiel murmured, his voice even rougher than usual, "you look very appealing like this." Dean turned in Cas' arms, facing him, and it was only when his erection brushed the matching hardness in Castiel's slacks that he remembered he was only wearing thin pajama pants. The angel gasped, and Dean couldn't help another little thrust, drawing sighs of pleasure from both of them. "Dean," Castiel hissed, hands sliding up to cup Dean's face, "you don't have to do this. You know what will happen if we do. If the bond is completed, there is no going back." Dean grasped Cas' wrists, holding his hands to his face.

"I know, Cas. I've been waiting on you. I didn't... I didn't even know if you could want me like this. I had no clue how angels do things, and I just-" Dean was cut off by Castiel pressing his lips to Dean's, tilting his head for the right angle. Dean made a surprised noise, and immediately kissed back, trailing his tongue lightly across the angel's bottom lip, coaxing his mouth open. When Castiel obliged, Dean wasted no time licking into his open mouth, tasting ozone and lightning, moaning. Cas seemed like he didn't really know what to do for a second, but when Dean twined his tongue around the angel's, Cas responded, fiercely licking back, tongues battling for a few moments, until Dean had to pull back to breathe. Castiel whimpered at the loss of contact, and the sound went straight to Dean's dick, and he felt it twitch inside his pajamas. The angel looked at him curiously for a moment, and sank slowly to his knees, Dean gasping when he realized what Cas was going to do. Castiel grasped the edge of Dean's pants, looking up at him with big blue eyes, silently asking permission. Dean nodded, breathless, and Cas slowly pulled down the waistband, watching Dean intently the whole time. Dean stepped out of the discarded piece of clothing, leaning back against the counter as Cas grasped his length, and the human groaned as Castiel stroked him experimentally, precum oozing from the head. Dean almost leaped out of his skin with surprise and pleasure when a warm tongue swiped across the tip, tasting, and he growled in his throat. "How do you even know-" Dean hissed as that tongue traveled up and down his cock, "what to do?" Castiel chuckled, and Dean frowned at him in confusion. 

"I have been alive since before humans were evolved into intelligent beings," Castiel told him, "I know how sex works, I just have yet to put in into practice." Dean shuddered, and Castiel licked down around his balls and back up to the tip, Dean twitching at the teasing flicks of his tongue. "There is one thing I have always wanted to try, though," Castiel whispered, and Dean looked down at him, Cas' expression absolutely mischievous, "I want you to... _fuck_... my mouth," the angel told him, and Dean hissed between his teeth, eyes wide both from hearing the angel swear and from what he was proposing. Dean swallowed hard, looking at his mate.

"You sure, Cas? I mean, I'm not small, I could choke you, 'specially if you don't know what you're doing," Dean told him, though his hips were already twitching with the idea of being inside that gorgeous mouth.

"I'm an angel, Dean," Castiel gave him an impatient look, "I don't have a gag reflex." Dean moaned aloud, and Cas opened his mouth, placing it around Dean's cock, dipping his head and smoothly sliding all the way down to the base. Dean quivered, watching Castiel's throat open and bulge as his cock slid into it, and when Castiel drew back, the warm, wet, slick feeling made him jerk."Now _fuck_ me," Castiel begged, and Dean really could never refuse him that. Dean trailed fingers through Cas' thick black hair, grasping it and slowly, easily sliding his cock back into his mouth, shallow thrusts at first until Castiel made a sharp noise of disapproval. Dean's already weak control broke, and he starting slamming into Castiel's mouth in earnest. He gripped Cas' hair hard, eliciting a pleased sound from the angel, and shoved his cock deep into Cas' mouth, feeling the exact moment when his cock shoved down the opening of Cas' throat, watching the outline of his cock show through the skin there. He pulled out quickly and thrust back in, Castiel moaning around him the entire time, and goddamn but this was the best blow job of his life.

" _FUCK_ , Cas," Dean moaned, "so sexy like this, waited for this, feels so good." Dean established a quick, harsh rhythm, groaning each time he thrust in, growling each time he pulled out, saliva dripping from his cock, Cas' lips becoming spit slick and swollen, and Dean knew the angel's voice would be wrecked after this, his cock pressing again and again against the back of and into Cas' tight throat. He knew he wasn't going to last long, and he was right, moaning and shivering as he grew closer and closer to orgasm, shoving that much harder into Castiel's mouth. "Cas... Cas, I'm gonna..." Dean tried to warn Cas, but all the angel did was grab his ass and shove Dean as deep as possible into him, and Dean cried out as he came, feeling Castiel's throat tighten and loosen around him as he swallowed everything Dean gave him. Dean's knees trembled and he would have collapsed with the pleasure if Cas didn't reach up and use angelic strength to hold him up from his waist, keeping him standing, suckling Dean's softening cock until it became too much and Dean exclaimed weakly in protest.

When Castiel pulled off, he looked absolutely wrecked. His black hair was even more messed up than usual from Dean's rough handling, his chapped lips were swollen and red, his blue eyes crinkling around the corners as he gave Dean one of his rare smiles, and he had saliva and precum smeared all over his face. Dean thought he was _BEAUTIFUL_. He reached down for the angel, pulling him up to kiss him again, this time tasting himself along with the electric taste that was Castiel. He tugged at the angel's trademark trench coat, and placed little nips along Cas' jaw, “Cas. Clothes. Mojo. Off. Now,” Dean told him, impatient, and Cas huffed a silent laugh and obliged, all his clothing disappearing the next moment. Dean pulled back and looked at his mate naked for the first time.

There was miles and miles of unmarred, gorgeous skin, paler than Dean's own. Cas wasn't nearly as slight as he looked in the hideous too-large suit he normally wore, he actually had a very sturdy frame, and his muscles were toned, not an extra ounce of fat anywhere. It was a runner's body, and Dean took a moment to watch the muscles ripple as Castiel shifted his weight. Inevitably, Dean's gaze trailed lower, and he bit his lip as he caught sight of Cas' cock, standing hard and flushed, curving towards Castiel's stomach, not as large as Dean's but still a very respectable length and girth. Dean's mouth was suddenly very dry, and he buried his face into the angel's neck, taking deep breaths, trying to steady his nerves. Cas held him out at arm's length, cupping his face in warm hands and stroking thumbs along Dean's mouth, brow furrowed in concern, “Dean, you don't need to do this right now. I don't wish for you to... regret this later.” His voice was just as rough and raw as Dean had hoped, and Dean looked up, meeting Castiel's eyes, smiling at the longing there.

“I've never wanted anything more,” Dean told him, and as he said it he realized it was completely true. Castiel's face lit up, and he took Dean's hand, leading him to the bedroom.

“I believe it is both customary and more comfortable to do this on a bed,” Castiel said seriously, and Dean laughed, some of the tension broken.

Castiel laid him gently on his back, crawling over him, and proceeded to completely worship Dean's body. He mouthed damp kisses across the quivering muscles of Dean's abdomen, up over his chest, leaving bites along his collarbone and neck that definitely were going to leave marks, and Dean shuddered at the thought. Cas' hands reached up to trail through his hair, and his lips found Dean's face, trailing over the contours of his cheekbones, across the edge of his jaw, memorizing the body he had put back together so carefully. He leaned in and kissed Dean's eyelids, bringing a small smile to Dean's mouth. “Your eyes are so beautiful,” Castiel told him, and Dean sighed happily in response, “you are the most wondrous thing my Father has ever created.” Dean's breath hitched and he reached his hand up to pull on the back of Cas' neck, pulling their lips together, and kissed him lazily and thoroughly, his free hand mapping the hard planes of Castiel's back, so different than the soft curves Dean was used to. Castiel pulled back a moment later, licking his still swollen lips. “How do you wish to proceed?” the angel asked Dean, and it took Dean a moment to realize what he was asking.

“Well, I'm not ready yet, so...” Dean shifted Castiel up and rolled over underneath him, tilting his hips up in an offering, and he heard Cas gasp quietly.

“Dean,” Castiel said, and his voice was rough and broken, “I could hurt you. I have never done this before, and I am much stronger than you.”

“I trust you, Cas,” Dean told him, and he'd actually be lying if he said the thought of angelic strength fueled sex wasn't a huge turn on. Castiel cleared his throat and leaned down, slowly kissing his way down Dean's spine, making him tremble, before grasping his hips and pushing him up onto his knees. Dean whimpered as Castiel parted his cheeks, and he threw back his head and cried out a moment later when something warm and wet and probing slid over his hole. After a second, Dean realized it was Cas' _tongue_. The angel seemed encouraged by the noises he was pulling from Dean, and he licked more intently, tongue thrusting and lapping and twirling over Dean's ass until he had the human writhing and moaning, and still the angel continued, Dean's ass becoming slick with saliva and his cock already swelling for the second time today. Castiel growled his approval when he saw Dean harden, and Dean heard a cap click open a second later- lube, he knew. It almost made Dean smirk, because he knew the bottle had been in his bag in the other room- Castiel must have mojoed it into his hand because he couldn't take two seconds away from Dean to go grab it. There was a pause- probably Castiel lubing up his fingers, and a second later Castiel was pressing against his ass. Dean forced his muscles to relax, reminding himself to breathe, and Cas smoothly slid in a finger, Dean gasping at the unfamiliar feeling. The angel unerringly hit his prostate on the second thrust of his finger, and Dean groaned, thank God he got the one angel that literally knew his body inside and out. Castiel showered little bites all over Dean's thighs and ass, and inserted a second finger, the slight burn actually a lot more pleasant than Dean had expected. The angel scissored his fingers, slowly and carefully opening Dean up, pausing occasionally to add more lube, making sure to pay attention to that little spot inside Dean that made his cock twitch each time it was brushed against. 

By the time Cas had three fingers going comfortably in and out, Dean was absolutely, one hundred percent ready to be fucked. “Cas,” Dean whispered breathlessly, gripping the wooden headboard of the bed, “Cas,  _PLEASE_ , fuck me! I'm ready!” The angel gave one last teasing thrust of his fingers, and pulled them out, studying Dean's open ass for a moment before sitting up and slicking up his cock with lube, positioning himself at Dean's opening, pausing.

“Tell me if I hurt you, Dean,” Castiel said, still concerned he might go too hard, too fast for Dean's human body.

“What if I want to be hurt?” Dean's voice was lustful and taunting, and he turned his head to the side to look at Cas, green eyes sparkling at him. Castiel growled and pushed forward, the tip of his cock pushing into Dean, who let out a loud, unabashed moan. Castiel kept pushing, feeling the warm and oh-so-tight channel of Dean's ass open around his cock until he was all the way in. Both of them groaned as Castiel bottomed out, and Cas stayed there, trembling, until Dean turned and smiled at him, expression far away and blissful. The angel gathered himself and pulled out and smoothly slid back in, slowly, carefully, and after a few thrusts Dean made a frustrated sound and shoved his hips back against Castiel.

“Not gonna break, angel. Harder,” Dean growled, and Castiel, ever obedient, gave it to him, withdrawing and shoving back in with a snap of his hips and the sound of skin on skin, tearing a sharp pleasured sound from Dean's throat. Cas continued to pound in, hitting his prostate on at least every other stroke, and Dean could feel the warm feeling of orgasm building in his gut, gasping for air. Castiel gripped his hips hard enough to bruise, tilting up slightly, and suddenly the angel was hitting his prostate on every single shove. Dean was screaming by the time he came, and the orgasm crashed down on him, vision whiting out for a moment and he could have sworn time stopped as he shot ropes of come on the bedsheets below him, cock completely untouched. Cas wasn't far behind, only pumping in and out for a few more strokes before burying himself deep in Dean and crying out, his true voice bleeding through and ringing against Dean's eardrums, and the sound of windows shattering echoed from all over the cabin. Dean moaned as he felt Cas' come fill his ass, warmth flooding through him both literally and figuratively, and he slumped under the angel, collapsing in a sweaty, come covered heap. Castiel pulled out and spread his ass, watching his come trickle out of Dean's gaping hole, and Dean whimpered hoarsely, voice completely shot. Castiel reached for Dean, touching the bedsheets under him and mojoing them clean, but when he reached to clean up Dean himself the human grabbed his wrist, shaking his head and flushing. “I like feeling you inside me,” Dean admitted, and Castiel kissed him, smiling, happier than he had been in all his millennia of exsistence. 

  
  


  
  


The effects of the bond pairing hit them both approximately ten minutes later. Cas had been spooning Dean, the human tucked against his chest, their legs entwined, fingers trailing through his sandy brown hair, when Dean began shivering uncontrollably, curling into a ball and crying out. It affected the angel a little differently, his grace boiled inside him, shooting up his vessel's temperature until he had to separate himself from Dean for fear of burning him, and bright white light spilled from his eyes and mouth as he sat up and tilted his head back, embracing the new sensations. Dean's emotions flooded over Castiel's consciousness: pain, joy, fear, anxiety, pleasure, and Castiel was very aware of his mate's location, down to the very way he was breathing, and he could feel the dull ache left behind in Dean's body from their love making. Castiel shut his eyes, focusing on these new things embedded in his grace, and he stayed frozen that way until warm, slightly sweaty arms encircled his waist, and lips touched the back of his neck. “Is it always this intense?” Dean asked, voice quiet. Castiel smiled, leaning back into Dean's hold. 

“It's a little different for us, I think, more intense than a normal human pairing, because I am an angel,” Castiel replied, eyes still shut, “but as we are the very first mating pair of our kind I have no precursor to compare us to.” Dean's lips brushed over his hair, and Castiel sighed comfortably.

“It's gonna take some getting used to,” Dean murmured, and the angel nodded.

“Yes, I agree,” Castiel sighed, “unfortunately, we've been away for longer than I expected already, and I am sure we have already been missed.”

“Just one more night?” Dean asked, pleadingly, and Cas huffed a laugh, turning to look at his new mate.

“One more night,” Castiel agreed, and he pulled Dean's lips to his again.


	15. In Which Dean and Sam are Just a Bit Threatening

Castiel officially hated his superior. Zachariah was a conniving, slippery angel, and Castiel thought to himself that he must have some kind of secret agenda. Directly upon arriving back from the cabin, it was demanded that Castiel come to heaven- he claimed he had healed Dean because the human was too close to death for him to be comfortable leaving him that way, and though he was scolded for the healing, it was also noted that Dean was in better fighting shape than he had been in a long time, so Castiel's superiors let him off with a warning. Zachariah had been the only one to look at him curiously, as though he were seeing through him, and when he asked Castiel about the week they'd been missing, Castiel simply told him the human's body had been too hard to repair immediately. It had been an uneasily accepted excuse, and Castiel was not disillusioned- he knew he was on extremely thin ice. Somehow, however, the angel couldn't seem to make himself care too much, he was finally bonded with Dean, with his grace mate, and he was floating with happiness. Another emotion, another weakness for angels, but Castiel didn't regret learning about this one.

Zachariah decided to play a game with the Winchesters, and he sent them to an alternate universe where they didn't remember anything about their hunting life. Dean wasn't truly Dean, and it made Castiel extremely uncomfortable. Dean Smith was nothing of the snarky, temperamental, wonderful mess that was Castiel's mate, and even though Cas hovered nearby, there was no pull of the bond for either of them. Castiel hated that more than anything, and his grace ached with the absence. In the end, Dean came back to himself, as Zachariah had predicted, and Castiel couldn't help a wave of relief when Dean prayed for him later and greeted him with an enthusiastic kiss. Sam was less than thrilled at the impromptu make out session, but his brother was happy and Castiel could tell that made Sam happy too.

**  
  
  
**

Dean was kinda pissed off, honestly. He and Sammy had gone to investigate a routine haunting, and had run into a much, _MUCH_ more serious issue. The boys left the bookstore loaded down with the “Supernatural” book series apparently written about them, and Dean wasn't quite sure how to process this new problem. Sam seemed just as much at a loss as Dean. They were at their motel now, books flung across the bed, some of the pages marked in a few of them, and Dean was sprawled on his stomach reading one, a frown permanently etched onto his face. “This is fucking insane,” Dean spluttered, slamming the book shut, “how does this guy know all this?!”

“You got me,” Sam muttered, face buried in his laptop, distracted.

“Everything is in here, and I mean _EVERYTHING_ ,” Dean ranted, flopping onto his back, “everything from the racist truck to me having _SEX_. I'm full-frontal here, dude!”

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean, motioning towards the laptop, “The books are pretty obscure. I mean, like almost zero circulation. The writer went bankrupt after publishing the last book, ‘ _No Rest for the Wicked_.’” Sam sighed, pointing at the screen, “it ends with you going to Hell.”

“I reiterate,” Dean said with a huff, “fucking insane.” Dean read the script on the web-page thoughtfully, silent for a moment. “Hey, check it out, there's actually fans! Not many of them, but still.” Dean read further, and paused, face crinkling in confusion, “what the fuck is a slash fan?”

Sam cleared his throat, and he looked like he couldn't decide whether to be disgusted or amused,” as in... Sam-slash-Dean... together.” Dean flinched back from the computer like it had burned him, staring at Sam in horror, and Sam gave him a look, “hey, Castiel doesn't exist in the books yet, so...”

“Like... us, together, together?” Dean asked, looking a little ill. Sam smirked, and nodded. “They do know we're brothers, right?” Dean frowned, looking like he really didn't want an answer.

“Doesn't seem to matter,” Sam told him, and now he definitely looked amused. Dean slammed the laptop shut, scowling at it like it had personally offended him.

“That's just sick,” Dean scoffed, “we've gotta find this 'Carver Edlund.'” Sam looked fakely wounded, clutching a hand to his chest.

“So I simply can't compete with Castiel, is that it, Dean?” Sam whimpered, and Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother.

“I don't think Cas would take kindly to _ANYONE_ being with me other than him,” Dean grumbled, and Sam laughed.

“No more one night stands, huh, Dean?” Sam was teasing blatantly now, and Dean crossed his arms, glaring. “Fine, fine, wouldn't want him to come down here and smite me,” Sam raised his hands in surrender. “However, it's not going to be easy to find this guy. No tax record, no known address. I'm pretty sure Carver Edlund is a pen name,” Sam told him.

“Someone has gotta know who he is,” Dean replied firmly, and Sam just rubbed his temples.

**  
  
  
**

Dean had decided the only thing worse than finding out there was a whole book series written about him was trying to prove he was a hardcore fan of said books written about him. Not that it was hard; after all, they knew themselves for the most part, but this publisher chick was annoying as hell and all Dean wanted was to get the information and get out. Sam was handling it better, so Dean let him talk unless the chick's impromptu quiz asked questions about “Dean.” Back and forth it went, Sam desperately trying to convince her they were die hard fans, and Dean doing his best to not roll his eyes and brandish a gun and demand answers. Finally, and stupidly enough, it was the tattoos that the girl accepted as fan proof, they received the author's actual information, and Dean stomped out to the car, cracking his knuckles. “That dude is soooo fucking _DEAD!_ ” Dean snapped, and Sam didn't even disagree.

**  
  
  
**

The house of the author was really run down, old, and not taken care of very well, and Dean felt an absurd moment of hurt feelings that the general public didn't like the books more than they did, that they were so unpopular the author went bankrupt. He scowled at himself and rang the doorbell, Sam tall and imposing on the other side of him, and when a short, raggedy looking man answered the door, absolutely reeking of alcohol, Dean couldn't help but be even more annoyed. “You Chuck Shirley?” Dean practically snarled the words, fists clenched, and the man trembled ever so slightly.

“The Chuck Shirley who wrote the 'Supernatural' books?” Sam added, his tone barely any nicer than Dean's.

“Maybe,” the much smaller man twitched, “why?”

“I'm Dean, this is Sam,” Dean told the man, face dark and stormy, “The Dean and Sam you've been writing about.”

The man frowned, as if realizing something, and he sighed, “look, I appreciate your enthusiasm, I really do. It's, uh, always nice to hear from the fans. But, for your own good, I highly suggest you get a life.” The man tried to slam the door, but Dean threw out a hand to stop him, so much stronger than the stranger that it was laughable.

“See, here's the thing,” Dean snapped, officially done with this shit, “ we have a life. You've been using it to write your books.” Dean shoved the door open and shoved Chuck backwards in the process, and the writer exclaimed in surprise.

“Hey, this isn't funny!” he protested, and Dean snorted.

“Damn straight, it isn't funny,” Dean agreed.

“Look,” Sam butted in, tone a little kinder than Dean's, “we just wanna know how you're doing it.”

“I'm not doing anything!” the author's hands were in the air as if in surrender, and he was backing away rapidly.

“Are you a hunter?” Dean asked, still walking towards him.

“What? No! I'm a writer!” Chuck said, and his voice was rapidly turning pleading. Dean realized with a bit of pleasure that they were scaring the dude. “What do you even _WANT_?!” the writer begged, looking around as if searching for a weapon or phone or something.

“I'm _SAM_. And that's _DEAN_ ,” Sam repeated, firmly, and Chuck looked horribly confused.

“Sam and Dean are _FICTIONAL_ characters!” Chuck told them, sounding exasperated and a bit frightened, “I made them up! They're not _REAL_!” Dean snapped, officially at the end of his rope, and he grabbed the writer's arm and dragged him out towards the Impala, the man protesting the whole way. Dean let him go and flipped the trunk open, pulling out the compartment and showing Chuck the arsenal back there, watching the writer's face go pale.

“Are those... real guns?” Chuck whispered, as if he were afraid to ask.

“Yup,” Dean told him, pointing at the items, “that's real rock salt, those are real fake IDs.”

“Well,” Chuck laughed nervously, backing away again, “I have to admit it, you guys really are my number one fans... so I think I've got some posters in the house-”

“Chuck, _STOP!_ ” Dean snapped, and the writer paused, eyes as wide as saucers.

“Please, wait,” he said weakly, “please, don't hurt me.”

“How much do you know?” Sam asked, brow furrowed, “Do you know about the angels? Or Lilith breaking the seals?” The writer stopped in his tracks, staring at Sam as if he were an alien.

“Wait a minute,” Chuck said slowly, “how do you know about that?”

“The question is,” Dean replied, trying to keep his voice level, “how do _YOU_ know?”

“Because I wrote it?” Chuck replied quickly, face still puzzled, though not as frightened.

“You kept writing?” Sam looked horrified, and Dean could relate.

“Yeah, even after the publisher went bankrupt, but those books never came out,” the writer looked flighty again, and Dean stepped closer, “okay, wait, this is some... some kind of joke, right?”

“Well, nice to meet you,” Dean said, praising himself for only sounding a tiny bit sarcastic, “I'm Dean Winchester, and this is my brother Sam.”

The writer paused, snapping into realization, “The last names were never in the books- I never told anyone about that. I never even wrote that down...” Sam and Dean looked at each other, nodding. They had his attention now. **  
**


End file.
